The Ties That Bind
by LadyWallace
Summary: Sequel to "Family First" Arthur Ketch does not like to be made a fool of and he's going to make the Winchesters and their angel pay for what happened last time they tangled. When Sam and Cas are both captured by the BMoL, it's up to Dean and Mary to find them before they suffer irreparable damage. Lots of Sam and Cas whump, no slash
1. Taken

**So here is a brand new story for you! I know a few of you have been looking forward to this one for a while, so I hope it doesn't disappoint ;)**

 **Now, this is a sequel to my other story "Family First" and you should probably go read that one before you read this one, but essentially a recap of the previous story is: Cas got coerced into working with the BMoL to protect the Winchesters and had to hunt with Ketch and nearly got killed on multiple occasions. Ketch kidnapped all of them, but they were able to escape when Crowley blew his way into the compound to get the Colt back for himself. This story picks up about a month after the first one.**

 **So, as usual, prepare yourselves for much whump and angst!**

The Ties That Bind

 _A Supernatural Fanfic_

Chapter One

Taken

It started out with just a simple supply run.

Castiel had gone with Sam into town to pick up some stuff at the store since they had returned from a hunt and found their refrigerator held nothing but orange juice and American cheese. Dean, who had sprained his ankle on the hunt and needed to rest it, promptly sent Sam and Cas out to get 'provisions' and demanded that they also bring home a pizza that 'didn't just have rabbit food on it'.

Castiel had promised Dean he would make sure they ordered at least one type of meat, and also agreed to take his truck since Dean didn't want Sam driving the Impala after he had gotten it clawed up by a hellhound on another case a couple weeks ago.

Castiel sighed wearily as they secured the bags into a covered box in the back of the truck. He was tired too, and just wanted to rest back at the bunker before another hunt came onto their radar. At least he was hunting with Sam and Dean again, and not that bastard Arthur Ketch. That made things so much better.

Just the thought of the Englishman caused Castiel to subconsciously touch his side where Ramiel had stabbed him with the Lance of Michael. There may not have been a physical scar there, but he wouldn't be forgetting it any time soon. Ketch had almost gotten him killed, and then later had captured Castiel and the Winchesters, with obviously ill intent. Castiel himself had been taken for 'scientific purposes' and he shuddered inwardly at the thought of how much further it all could have gone if they hadn't been able to escape as soon as they did.

But he didn't think Ketch and the British Men of Letters would try to mess with them again too soon. All three of them had made it pretty clear as to what would happen if the Brits tried anything. It had almost been a month since that incident, and they hadn't heard or seen so much as a glimpse of them.

"Okay," Sam said, as he secured the groceries and moved to open the truck cab. "I already put in the order for the pizza so it should be ready to pick up by the time we get there."

"Good," Castiel said as he climbed behind the wheel and started it, heading toward the pizza parlor. He didn't really want to admit how tired he was, but from Sam's sympathetic look, he could tell. They had all gotten beaten around on this last hunt—he decided he really hated ghouls—and they were all ready for a couple days of rest. Castiel had kind of given up worrying about how weak his grace was lately. It wasn't going to get any better, but it hadn't gotten worse since Lucifer had been ripped out of him either, so at least he seemed to be steady instead of it burning out even more. He'd just had to come to terms with needing sleep and food every once in a while when he was worn down. It was annoying, but he could deal with it. At least it was his own grace, and he had his family and a place to stay so he truly didn't want for anything.

"Don't worry, Cas, Dean's already decided we're just gonna sit and binge Netflix for the next couple of days," Sam said. "I'm not even going to look at the computer."

Castiel smiled. "I think I will be glad of a little…R&R," he replied as he pulled off the main road toward the pizza place.

It was a Friday night and the place was packed. Castiel groaned as he saw the parking lot filled up.

"There's more places to park around back," Sam told him, pointing in the direction they could drive around.

Castiel followed his lead and parked around the back of the restaurant. There was a distinct lack of light back here where there were the only thing to be found was the restaurant dumpsters, and he felt slightly uncomfortable for no apparent reason. He glanced at Sam, but the hunter didn't seem to be too worried, and even if this part of the place was deserted, it was a good part of town with many people nearby, so Castiel figured he didn't have reason to worry about anything—certainly they'd stayed the night in worse places. He just couldn't always keep himself from being jumpy, and it was a small wonder why after the lives he and the Winchesters lived. He figured it was just residual adrenaline from the hunt. Chasing ghouls through an old house that had belonged to a serious hoarder had certainly been nerve-wracking enough.

However, as they rounded the back of the restaurant to find the door, something caught Castiel's eye that instantly set off alarm bells in his head.

Parked to one side of the building was a familiar black motorcycle. Of course, it could be anyone's, but here, right now, in Lebanon, Kansas right when he and Sam were supposed to pick up an order? No, Castiel was not taking that risk.

He swiftly reached out and gripped Sam's forearm in warning.

"Sam, we need to go."

The hunter didn't argue, but still frowned, even as Castiel started to pull him back toward the truck. "Cas, what's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to mention the motorcycle, when a soft, muffled _fwip_ was heard—the sound of a gun with a silencer—and all of a sudden Castiel felt pain rip through his shoulder. He couldn't draw a breath before he simply collapsed to the ground, his body apparently unable to keep itself upright.

"Cas!" Sam shouted, pulling his own gun from the back of his belt and crouching down by Castiel as he looked around for the threat.

"Hello, Winchester."

Arthur Ketch rose from the back of Castiel's truck, standing up with a smirk on his face, before he nimbly leapt down onto the pavement.

Sam raised his gun and cocked it. "You."

"Sam, run," Castiel forced from between clenched teeth. He was trying to move, trying to reach his angel blade, but nothing would work. He couldn't move his body from the shoulders down. The bullet must have had spellwork or something to paralyze him like this.

"No way," Sam hissed back.

"I can't move," Castiel insisted, pleading with him. "Just go!"

Sam shook his head, but at least stood to face Ketch as the Englishman stopped several feet from them, giving that half smile that Castiel knew all too well meant he was pleased with himself and thinking he'd won.

"What did you do to him?" Sam demanded, pistol still trained on the man.

Ketch held up his own gun. "Oh, that? A fun new toy R&D came up with. The bullet has paralyzing sigils carved into it. Glad to see it works so well. Never got the chance to test it when we had the halo before."

Castiel growled, making another attempt to move, but to no avail. He couldn't even dig the bullet out like this.

"What do you want?" Sam demanded.

"Oh, please, Sam, you're smarter than that," Ketch chided. "You should know what I want."

"Petty revenge?" Sam replied blandly.

Ketch shrugged. "In part. But the old men back in England do so want us to get results here. I was aiming for the halo, but I'd be more than happy to throw a Winchester into the bargain."

Castiel's heart rose into his throat, remembering the threats Ketch had made against the Winchesters previously, especially Sam. "Leave him out of this. I know it's me you want, Ketch," he ground out.

Ketch gave him a blasé look. "You know how foolish your false bravado will be, angel. Besides. I didn't come alone."

Castiel and Sam both looked toward the road as the screech of tires pulling up to the curb sounded and a huge black SUV came into view, expelling several men in combat gear, weapons pointed at Sam and Castiel. Sam stared them down for a minute before lowering his gun with a disgusted look. The men swarmed in, and surrounded them. Two grabbed Sam between them and slid zipties over his hands, cinching them tight. Another kicked Castiel onto his stomach, making his wound burn with pain, before they manacled his hands behind his back with sigiled cuffs. As if he would be going anywhere with this bullet in his shoulder.

They were then lifted bodily and thrown into the back of the SUV with the Men of Letters climbing in behind them, taking places on benches built into the sides of the vehicle. Ketch climbed in last, closing the door behind him and smiled with a cruel satisfaction as he looked down at Sam and Castiel.

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," he said before he nodded to the other men and they swiftly stuffed bags over Sam's, and then Castiel's, head. Castiel heard Sam struggling, before his muffled protests were sharply cut off with a grunt and a thud that sounded all too much like a boot connecting with the hunter's head.

"Sam!" Castiel tried to shout, but his voice was muffled too, and before he knew it, stars burst in front of his own eyes and blackness overtook him.

* * *

 _Dean winced as he limped into the kitchen_ to grab another beer. Damn those ghouls. Hunting for a group of those fuglies in an old house that should be featured on an episode of _Hoarders_ was a bad idea in and of itself. And though it couldn't be helped, his deciding to go up into the old and creaky attic of said house was just plain stupid. Dean's foot had gone straight through the floor, and if Sam hadn't shown up when he did, Dean would be ghoul meat right now.

Overall, he was lucky to have gotten away with just a sprain. He hadn't let Cas fix it either, since the poor guy had looked terrible after getting thrown down the staircase. Besides, it would be better in a couple days—okay, _if_ he stayed off of it. But Sam and Cas were taking forever getting back from town, and Dean wasn't going to deprive himself of beer in that time.

Slumping heavily back into a chair in the library and kicking his injured foot up on the table, he grabbed his phone from where he had left it next to his laptop and checked for messages. Nothing from Sam or Cas. Okay, fine, they must still be on the supply run or hopefully on their way home by now.

In that case…it was time to catch up on some anime. Dean figured he deserved that after the day they had. He smirked and grabbed his laptop and sat back with his beer to enjoy.

After a while, though, he started glancing between his phone and the door, wondering what the hell was taking Sam and Cas so long to pick up some food and a pizza?

He grabbed his phone and checked the time. 9:30. It had almost been two hours since they left.

A pit of worry started forming in Dean's stomach. Something didn't seem right. Okay, maybe they'd had to wait at the pizza place, it was Friday night, after all, but Sam would have texted him if that were the case, wouldn't he? They'd made a point to keep in contact even in non-threatening environments since the whole thing with Cas the British Dicks of Letters. This wasn't like either of them.

He hurriedly called Sam, getting more and more anxious as the phone rang and rang until Sam's voicemail popped up.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean muttered, as he ended the call and tried Cas' phone, but got the same thing. He tried Sam's once more, and this time left a message.

"Sammy, call me now. Where the hell are you?"

He set the phone back on the table, looking at it as he contemplated his next move. He was hoping Sam would call him back instantly, annoyed that Dean was so worked up, and giving some stupid excuse for why they were late. Traffic, detouring for a crash, surprise hunt…alien abduction? Hell, Dean would take anything at the moment but what he feared to be the truth.

After trying both their phones one last time, he got to his feet and grabbed his coat and keys—and various weapons. He wasn't taking chances this time. He was going to trust his gut, which was telling him something was very wrong.

He limped out to the Impala and started her up, tearing out of the garage on the way to town. He went to the grocery store first, driving around the parking lot, looking for Cas' truck, but it wasn't there. He cursed, and pulled back out on the road, heading to the pizza joint.

It was almost closing by the time he got there, and he hurriedly parked out front, making his way inside.

The young man at the front was just wiping the counter down when he looked up to see Dean come in.

"Hey, Dean!" he said, dropping his rag and heading over to the warming counter where they kept the orders. "Wondered when you'd get here. Your pizza's been ready for like, two hours."

"Oh, thanks, Brian," Dean said, having already forgotten about the pizza, but he paid the kid anyway. "Hey, uh, you see my brother here at all?"

Brian frowned. "No. I would have given the pizza to him if I had."

Dean's stomach roiled. "How about a British guy?"

Brian's eyes narrowed. "Now that you mention it, yeah, there was a British guy who came in here tonight. He didn't stay long, just ordered a slice and a beer but turned up his nose at both. He was dark-haired, posh accent…"

"A real dick?" Dean asked blandly.

"Yeah," Brian said. "Is something wrong, Dean?"

Dean shook himself as he noticed that he was clenching his fists. "Uh, no. I've just gotta go. I'll let you close up. Thanks for holding the pizza."

Brian told him goodnight, and Dean hurried back out to the Impala. As he got in, he just sat there for a moment, closing his eyes and gripping the wheel. If Ketch was here…Dean didn't even want to think of the possibilities of what could have happened to Sam and Cas right now.

But sitting here wasn't going to help them. Dean turned the key and started off back for the bunker, not really knowing what else to do, probably try and track their cellphones. It was just as he was driving past the pizza parlor that he caught sight of a truck parked out back.

He slammed on his brakes and turned in, recognizing the vehicle as Cas'. He got out of the Impala as quickly as he could and hurried over to the truck, holding his breath, half worried he was going to find Sam and Cas shot to death in the cab.

But they weren't there. He felt a small moment of relief, before the other options came to mind. He checked around the truck, looking for any clues. The box in the back was full of groceries, anything cold completely melted and probably ruined by now. Dean left it, not caring, and cast about the area, checking the dumpsters or anything for any clue as to what happened to Sam and Cas.

The streetlights glinted off of something wet on the ground, and Dean bent, seeing a small puddle of dark liquid. He touched a couple fingers to it, but he already knew what it was.

Blood.

"Dammit," he muttered.

From the viscosity, it was at least an hour old. The only reassurance he had was that it wasn't enough to denote a fatal wound, but in addition to the small pool, there were some spatters that were consistent with a gunshot.

This was like coming back to the bunker and finding out Sam had been kidnapped all over again. Dean straightened, started back to the Impala. This time, when he saw Ketch again, he was going to shoot on sight. Well, okay, maybe not. First he was going to beat that bastard's face in, and _then_ he would shoot him. Either way, the meeting would end in Ketch's demise. That was a certainty.

Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's number one more time, just in case.

A ringtone sounded from nearby, slightly muffled, but over in the direction of the dumpster. Dean went back over there and made a more thorough search, seeing the light from a phone screen glowing near the bottom. He reached down and grabbed it, feeling another similar shape as well. Pretty soon he was holding both Sam and Cas' phones.

"Son of a bitch," he growled and dialed another number. He was almost worried when no one picked up for a couple rings, but then he heard his mom's voice on the other end. "Hello? Dean, is that you?"

"Yeah, Mom, it's me," he said gruffly, feeling some relief that she at least was there.

"Are you okay?" she asked, obviously detecting something in his voice.

"Mom, I think the Brits have Sam and Cas," he said without preamble. "I'm gonna need some help getting them back."

"I'll be at the bunker in a couple hours," she said and hung up.

Dean took a calming breath and drove back toward the bunker. One way or another, he was going to get Sam and Cas back. That, he was sure of. He just hoped it wasn't going to be too late.

Because he was sure that the Brits didn't have anything nice planned for them at all.


	2. Captives

**Well, it's already looking pretty bad for Sam and Cas here and it's only going to get worse from here. Thanks to everyone who has followed, faved, and read so far! I hope you continue to enjoy!**

Chapter Two

Captives

Sam woke with a gasp, forcing himself into a sitting position, finding a slick, padded bench underneath of him. He glanced around sharply at his surroundings, having no idea where he was, but it looked like a cell of some kind.

He swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden panic that rose up inside of him at the thought of the facility he and Dean had been kept in for two months. But this wasn't the same place, it was white, sterile, and small, with a door that had an automated lock on it which meant he wasn't going to be picking it even if he could find something to do so. He stood on shaky legs, his head protesting the sudden uprightness, and went over to the door just in case.

It was then he realized he was barefoot, and in unfamiliar clothes. While he was unconscious, someone had dressed him in blue scrub pants and a plain white t-shirt. Not only did the idea of someone changing his clothes without his consent make his skin crawl, but it also meant they would have found and confiscated all his weapons.

Sam tried to piece the memories of what had happened together in his pounding head. He remembered going into town with Cas. They'd been about to pick up a pizza when Ketch had popped up. He'd shot Cas with some kind of angel-paralyzing bullet and then more of the Men of Letters had come to take them both captive.

Sam stupidly looked around the room as if Cas might materialize there, but the angel obviously wasn't in the cell with him. He swallowed hard. This was a very bad situation they had gotten into. Cas had gotten a taste of what the Men of Letters wanted to do with him the last time they had been captured, and now Sam knew they weren't going to make things easy on either of them after what had happened. Sam could tell that Ketch was the kind of man who held a grudge and liked petty revenge, and he certainly wasn't afraid to be cruel.

Anger flared through Sam then and he slammed his fist against the door. "Hey! Let me out of here!" he shouted, determined to keep up the pounding until someone came to stop him.

It happened sooner than expected. Sam heard footsteps outside the door, and suddenly the red light above the handle turned green, and the door swung open. Sam was met by Ketch and a guard who held something that looked like a cattle prod. No chance to rush them, then, unless he wanted a taste of that. Sam decided to save such obvious recklessness for another day. He stepped back, though he held his ground as Ketch and the guard came into the room and closed the door behind them.

"Do you need something, Winchester?" Ketch had the gall to ask. He was once again dressed in his typical immaculate suit; tie perfectly straight, with a matching pocket-handkerchief to complete the ensemble. Sam glowered at him,

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "And where's Cas?"

Ketch sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. "It's going to be like that again, is it? Fine, the angel is currently having the bullet removed from its shoulder after which it will be interred, like you."

Sam felt a surge of anger at Ketch calling Cas an 'it' again, but he knew rising to the bait now wasn't going to do him or Cas any good. "What do you want with us?"

"What we've wanted from the beginning," Ketch told him with a small shrug as if it had been obvious. "Your aid in this fight against all things Supernatural. I know that you can be a very good asset if applied correctly, Sam, and your pet angel, well, it will be used in the way we always intended. For scientific research."

"Cas isn't a lab rat!" Sam snarled, fists clenching at his sides. "You can't do this!"

"Oh we can, and we will, and there's nothing you can do to stop us," Ketch said with a smarmy smirk on his face that was too much for Sam. The hunter lunged forward and slammed his fist into Ketch's jaw. The Englishman stepped back with a grunt, but before Sam could continue his beating, the guard lunged forward and shoved the cattle prod into Sam's stomach, sending a shock through his body. He collapsed hard with a grunt as the guard kept the current going for several long seconds before he pulled the prod back.

When Sam could see straight again, he looked up to see Ketch dabbing blood from the corner of his mouth with his handkerchief. "You'll never learn, will you, Winchester? Or, maybe you will, eventually. I have high hopes for the treatment our people have for you."

Sam felt fear wash over him as he scraped himself off the floor, body trembling from the leftover shock. "Screw you," he forced out.

Ketch just smiled, the same smile that had gotten him punched. "See you bright and early, Sam." And then he and the guard left, the door locking firmly behind them.

Sam crawled over to the small cold bunk again, climbing onto it and curling onto his side as he fought the shockwaves still messing with his muscles. Whatever the Men of Letters had planned for him and Cas, Sam knew it wasn't going to be good.

On the other hand, he also knew that Dean would have realized something was wrong by now, and he was probably going to know exactly who had taken them.

Sam had faith in his brother to find them, and he had faith in himself and Cas that no matter what the British dicks did to them, they wouldn't break.

He just really hoped they wouldn't have to die before that happened.

* * *

 _Castiel came to with a cry of pain_ , feeling as if a red hot iron was being driven into his shoulder. He tried to jerk away from the source of it, but heard shouting and cursing and felt hands holding him down. Hands and cold chains around his wrists and ankles.

He blinked his eyes open through the haze of agony, and had to close them again as he was blinded by a light seemingly pointed directly at his face.

"Got it," someone said before a metal clink was heard. "Get a couple stitches in the wound and then tape it up."

Castiel felt several people standing around him, gloved hands prodding his burning shoulder as more pain flared up.

"Stop," he ground out.

He was ignored though, all through the fiery stabs in his shoulder, and then the clinical scrubbing of the area before he felt something pressed to the wound and taped there. It was only then that the blinding light was pushed to one side and he blinked his eyes open again, glancing blearily at his surroundings.

Several people in lab coats stood around the metal table he was chained to. Castiel did not like this at all, remembering vaguely what had happened. Seeing Ketch's bike, he and Sam being jumped. Ketch shooting him with the sigiled bullet so that he was unable to move. Unable to help defend Sam. If he had been able to move, they probably would have been able to put up a fight together, at least take some of the men down, but now it was too late. They'd been captured again, and he could only imagine all the terrible things the Men of Letters had planned for them now.

"That's all for now, Ketch wants it contained for the night," a voice said off to one side, and Castiel looked over, seeing a blond man that looked vaguely familiar. He thought it might be the same man who had tortured him when they'd been captured before, but he was still a bit fuzzy.

Suddenly, he felt hands undoing his restraints. Castiel had a surge of hope that he might be able to get away, but as he looked up, there was a man holding a gun pointed toward him.

"Don't try anything, angel, or I'll put more of those bullets into you and we'll start the whole process over again."

Castiel decided grudgingly that fighting was probably not the best option—even if he had had the strength to take on all these armed people at once without his angel blade. Besides, he wanted to know what had happened to Sam. His manacles were unlocked and he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet, swaying so that he had to grab the table to stay upright.

A woman pushed a stack of clothes into his arms. "Put these on," she said curtly.

Castiel stared stupidly at the outfit, glancing between it and the black slacks he was still wearing.

"Hurry up," the woman snapped.

Castiel complied, though indignantly. He didn't necessarily feel a human's embarrassment at undressing in front of these people, but there was an indignity in it that he didn't like at all. However, he feared that any insubordination on his part might have bad repercussions for Sam, and without knowing the situation well enough, he thought it best to comply.

For the moment.

He pulled off the trousers and replaced them with the soft blue drawstring pants and the white shirt that he struggled to get into with his injured shoulder. No one moved to help him though, simply looking even more impatient as he finally maneuvered his injured arm into the sleeve hole and pulled the shirt down his torso. The outfit felt too thin and cold, and he had the vague feeling of being too vulnerable in it. He subconsciously hugged his arms over his chest.

A man, who Castiel took to be a guard, strode over as soon as he'd finished dressing and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him out of the room they were in that looked to be some sort of medical surgery room, and down a long white hall, until they stopped at a closed door. The guard punched a code into the keypad and then shoved Castiel inside, slamming the door behind him without ceremony.

Castiel looked around at the small room. There was a sink and toilet in one corner, a shelf over top of that held a stack of more shirts and pants like he was wearing. A small cot that had nothing but a thin leather-like plastic cushion on it that looked like the kind they had in hospitals was against the other wall. There was nothing else in the room, and Castiel tried testing the door to no avail. He shoved and battered at it until his wound sang with pain again, and finally had to give up, clutching his arm across his chest and sinking down onto the cot with a wince.

At least there was no binding sigils in the cell and they hadn't bound his grace any other way either, so his wound would heal quickly, probably by the morning if he got rest. Of course, rest was out of the question. He needed to know where Sam was and what they were doing with him. He recalled Ketch's threats about forcing demon blood into him and felt sick to his stomach. Sam didn't deserve that, and Castiel hated the fact that no matter what happened, he would be powerless to stop it, especially if he didn't even know where Sam was being kept.

He was startled by footsteps outside the door and then the sound of the automatic lock opening. He got to his feet as Ketch pushed his way into the room, standing there with his hands behind his back and a satisfied smile on his face. Castiel's fists clenched at his sides, making sure his hatred showed.

"Come to gloat?" he demanded.

Ketch smirked with a small shrug. "Something like that."

Castiel wasn't quick enough to catch the punch Ketch threw at him. It connected with his jaw with a sharp crack, throwing Castiel to his knees where he caught himself against the cot, jarring his wound. Blood dribbled from his mouth and he looked around incredulously to see Ketch admiring a pair of brass knuckles with sigils carved into them like the ones Dean had stolen from Toni Bevel's sadistic companion after she'd attacked them on the road.

"They do pack a punch, don't they?" Ketch said in a satisfied tone. "That was for the blow you gave me last time. I lost two teeth."

"Good," Castiel ground out, pulling himself to his feet. "I wish you had choked on them." He then spat a gob of blood onto the toe of Ketch's polished leather shoe.

The Englishman's face went blank with rage and he swung again, pounding a brass-knuckled fist into Castiel's stomach and then his solar plexus, finishing off with a blow to the lower back as the angel doubled over that put Castiel on his hands and knees again, biting back a cry.

Ketch stared down at him dispassionately, as he took his handkerchief out and wiped the blood from the brass knuckles before he tucked them back into his pocket. "If you think you'll get out of here so easy this time, you're wrong. We've learned to take the proper precautions. You and Sam Winchester will not be slipping through our fingers this time."

Castiel grunted as he pulled himself to his feet again, his body singing with pain but he managed to stay upright. "When Dean finds out…"

"Oh, Dean won't be able to do anything," Ketch said with satisfaction that came from surety. Castiel felt slight unease wash over him. "We're not even at the same facility. We're not that stupid."

Castiel glared at him as he stood his ground, not letting Ketch see that his words had bothered him. Castiel knew that it wouldn't matter to Dean anyway. It might take him a bit longer to find them, but he still would. "I suppose you think that means you've won," he said blandly.

Ketch offered a humorless chuckle. "Oh no, not yet. Not until I have you broken and begging at my feet."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to wait a while. I'm not in the habit of begging," Castiel told him firmly.

Ketch took two steps forward and had Castiel against the wall, his hand clamped tightly around the angel's wounded shoulder. Castiel clenched his jaw to keep from making a noise. He didn't want to give this bastard the satisfaction.

"Maybe not yet, but you will, that I promise. I have my ways of breaking things like you, halo, and you'll know every one of them by the time I'm through with you." He clenched his hand tighter, his thumb digging into the bullet hole.

Instead of wincing, Castiel steeled himself and gave a defiant smile, like Dean would have. "You think you can break me? You think you can scare me with your petty threats? I'm an angel, you ass; beings far greater and more powerful than you have tried and failed. What makes you think you can do it, _human_?"

Ketch's thumb dug deeper, and this time Castiel was unable to keep the cringe from his face as he felt blood start to drip down his chest and soak into the clean white shirt.

"Oh, everyone has their breaking point, angel. And something tells me it's not going to be so hard to find yours." He leaned close, only inches from Castiel's face, forcing the angel to hold his ground and keep himself from flinching. "You talk big, but I know you. I have seen your weaknesses, your _human_ faults." Castiel tried not to shudder at the suggestive inflection he put on the word. "I know the things, the ideals, the _people_ you hold most dear, and that is how I will break you."

He shoved Castiel hard against the wall before finally releasing his shoulder, then strode swiftly out the door of the cell, shutting it firmly behind him.

Castiel staggered the couple steps to the bed, and slumped down onto it, clutching his wounded shoulder. Blood was seeping through his bandage and shirt, but he didn't bother looking at it, since he didn't have anything to fix it with. He just hoped that it would start to heal by morning.

Not that it probably mattered much. He knew only more pain and torture was coming, and the only thing he could do was make sure he proved Ketch wrong.

He wouldn't break. No matter what.

Castiel slumped down on the cot and curled into himself on the uncomfortable surface. He wondered where Sam was and what was being done to him.

* * *

 _Dean only barely stopped himself_ from pacing the whole time he was waiting at the bunker for Mom to get there. Instead, he put his twisted ankle up on the table and started searching through all the traffic camera footage of the town, trying to see exactly where and when Sam and Cas had been taken.

He was just weeding through the last several hours' worth of footage from the camera closest to the pizza place, when he heard the front door creak open. He got up, gun in hand just in case, and went out into the war room.

"Dean?"

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, putting his gun back into his waistband. "Mom."

Mom hurried down the stairs toward him, a worried look on her face as she looked him up and down, taking in the bruises. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, that's from the job we finished earlier," Dean assured her. "Sam and Cas were just on a supply run when I guess they got jumped." He headed toward the library and Mom followed him, pulling her bag from her shoulder and setting it down on the tabletop.

"What happened?" she asked.

Dean slumped back into his chair, resuming his searching of the video footage. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"How do you know it was the Brits?" she asked.

"Would it be anyone else?" he asked blandly. "Besides, no one else would get the drop on Sam and Cas like that. Those douchbags have stuff that neutralizes angels and all sorts of supernatural creatures. I figure they probably took Cas out, or threatened to, so Sam wouldn't put up a fight." He felt sick just saying it, but it was the reality of the situation. "There was some blood at the scene," he added grimly.

Mom sighed and sat down next to him, glancing at the screen. "Have you seen where they've gone?"

Dean shrugged. "The only thing I got was this black SUV pulling onto the road around the time I figure they were taken. Since SUVs with blacked out windows and untraceable plates aren't exactly common here in Lebanon, I can't imagine who else it would be."

"Well, we know where the Men of Letters' base is," Mom said. "That's where they'd be taken, right?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I guess, but they've got to expect we're coming. As much as I hate to admit it, Ketch and Mick are not idiots. Well, Ketch isn't anyway. He's likely planned this whole thing out to get back at us for pulling one over on them last time."

"Then we'll go in knowing what to expect," Mom said firmly. "There didn't seem to be that many people there last time and most of them were researchers. If we head over there, and watch them for a bit, maybe we can wait until their soldiers go off on a hunt or something, Ketch too."

Dean's fist clenched at just the mention of that bastard's name. "I want Ketch there. I want to shoot him between the eyes."

Mom didn't argue with him. Dean took a few more minutes to look through the traffic feeds, seeing the SUV leaving the town limits. After that there was nothing more to see. That last proof he had of what had happened to Sam and Cas.

He closed the laptop and stood up. "Well, we're just wasting time here. Let's head on over to the Brits' compound and scope it out."

Mom nodded in agreement and Dean went to pack a bag.

This time, the Brits weren't going to know what hit them.


	3. Blood

**Okay guys, this is where things start to go from bad to worse, Sorry in advance!**

Chapter Three

Blood

Arthur Ketch walked down the hallway with a cup of tea in his hand and a spring in his step. He was very much looking forward to what they would accomplish today. Now that he finally had that infernal angel, and one of its human masters at his fingertips, he was finally beginning to relax again. So what if he didn't have Dean, Dean was worthless to him. The only thing he could be was a soldier, but he was too defiant, and he certainly didn't possess any of the… _special skills_ that his younger brother did. Besides, Ketch didn't have the time it would take to properly train an attack dog like Dean. Not at the moment anyway. Maybe sometime in the future he would take on the challenge.

Ketch walked into Mick Davies' office where the smaller man was typing on the computer. Ketch sipped his tea while he waited, forcing down his impatience for Davies to finish.

When he finally finished typing with a slight flourish, he looked up at Ketch, hands folded in front of him on the desktop. "Ah, Ketch, I wanted to talk about the plans you have for Sam Winchester and the angel. I was just talking to Dr. Hess this morning and she is on board with whatever we think is most beneficial to the organization."

Ketch smiled and inclined his head. "Well, I think the programs I'll be starting today will prove most beneficial. Sam Winchester is a valuable weapon going to waste. I will oversee the training of his own talents myself. As for the angel, Lionel has quite the list of experimentations lined up for it. By the time he's done, we should have at least three more weapons we can use against the halos, as well as a plethora of other useful knowledge."

Davies nodded and turned to some paperwork on the desk, thumbing through it. "I trust you to see the programs through, then. I'm afraid I don't have time to help out much. The Old Men back in London are still pushing us to ally the American hunters and I'm elected as go-between so I'll be in and out. Oh, and Ketch."

"Yes?" the other man replied with a slightly annoyed inflection.

Davies looked up at him. "Don't abuse the angel too much. Lionel will need him in one piece and you might mess with the science department's work if you continue with the beatings."

Ketch stiffened, angry, hands already wanting to grasp the brass knuckles again, slam them into the angel's body until it was pleading with him for mercy, but didn't let that show. Instead, he simply inclined his head in a respectful manner. Davies never noticed the slightly mocking tilt of it. "Of course."

"Very well then, you can get to work," Davies told him, overly chipper as usual. "I will warn you, though, Dr. Hess is looking for results, however they come, by the end of the week."

That, Ketch could make sure of. He smiled. "Don't worry. There will be results. That I promise."

"Good."

Ketch turned and left the office then, heading toward the laboratory. Yes, he would make sure he got results. One way or another.

* * *

 _Sam must have fallen asleep_ at some point during the night, apparently exhausted enough that even capture couldn't keep him awake, because he was woken, presumably the next morning, when the door was opened.

Two guards shoved their way inside without a by your leave, and each grabbed one of his arms, hauling him to his feet and out the door. Sam struggled, protesting angrily, but they were both big guys, and one had a cattle prod in one hand ready for use. Besides, Sam didn't think he'd get far even if he did manage to overcome them. That didn't mean he would go completely without trouble, though.

He was hauled down a long corridor of locked rooms that looked to be identical to the cell he had been staying in, though there were no windows to show the occupants if there even were any. Sam had a sick feeling in his gut though, that there were more than a few occupied spaces, and he wondered vaguely who, or what, might be inhabiting them. He wondered if Cas was among them. Actually, at this point he hoped his friend had been interred here in the cells, because the other options didn't bear thinking about.

One guard scanned his hand on a pad and the other pushed through the double door that opened, dragging Sam after him.

Sam glanced around at the new room, taking in the surroundings. There was a whole wall of computer screens, each showing different data, and long stainless steel tables with test tubes and other things that led him to believe this was probably a lab. He frowned, seeing it was bigger than the one they'd seen the last time they'd been captured by the Men of Letters. Sam wondered if they were in a completely different place. In fact, he was pretty sure of it, since the layout of the hallways as a whole seemed different. He supposed it was only to be expected since Crowley had compromised the old one.

He didn't get much time to investigate further, as he was hurried past all of this to a smaller room set off to one side. This held the kind of chair you would find at the dentist office, but with straps added to it, and a set of monitors like those from a hospital. There was a heart monitor, and others he wasn't sure of, along with an IV drip. Sam swallowed hard, not liking the look of this.

He liked it even less as the two men shoved him into the chair and started strapping him down. Sam struggled, refusing to do this without a fight, but it did little good. He got one kick in before his legs were strapped in tight across the thighs and ankles, soon followed by more restraints, across his wrists, arms, shoulders, waist, and even across his forehead, keeping his head still. The confinement made him uneasy, but he tried not to show it as the two men checked the straps one last time and then left the room.

Sam took the moment he had alone to test out the straps, yanking on them firmly to see how much give they had. His heart sank immediately. If he had several hours, he could probably loosen them enough to escape, but he didn't think he'd have that long.

In fact, he was proven correct in that assumption as the door opened and Ketch strode in along with a woman in a white lab coat, carrying a covered tray that she set down on a table to one side of the room.

Ketch smiled at Sam, hands clasped behind his back. "Good morning, Winchester. I trust you slept well?"

"Like a baby," Sam replied snarkily, yanking at his restraints pointedly. "Is this really necessary?"

"Oh, I'm afraid it is," Ketch said as if he actually regretted it. "I can't trust you not to make trouble. You'll just have to deal with the discomfort until you become more compliant."

"Well, in that case, I guess this isn't too bad," Sam said. If Ketch was laboring under the delusion that he would actually become 'complaint' he was more insane than Sam had given him credit for.

"I suppose you're wondering what we're planning on doing with you," Ketch said in a conversational tone, taking several steps toward Sam's chair. "You see, among Lady Bevel's incredibly—one could say _psychotically—_ extensive research into you and your brother, she discovered a little tidbit about you that I genuinely found intriguing."

Sam smirked. "Oh yeah? You realize she took everything out of context, right?"

"Oh, I'm sure she did on some counts, that woman is insane," Ketch admitted, shaking his head. "But I do happen to have confirmation about this one from several sources. Your psychic powers, Sam. I'm very interested in those and so are the higher ups back in London."

Sam felt a vice clench around his heart. "I don't have them anymore," he said curtly.

Ketch raised an eyebrow. "No? Are you sure? Or is it just because you kicked your little demon blood addiction?"

Sam forced himself not to react, but he still subconsciously licked his lips, remembering his craving; one that had taken so long to get rid of. One of the greatest regrets of his life. "I don't do that anymore. I don't even think I _can_. Not since I went to hell. I've changed."

"Well, I hope you're wrong," Ketch said, leaning over the chair, putting his hands on the armrests as he leaned too close to Sam's face for comfort. "Because I've been tasked with getting you fighting fit again, Sam. Just think what kind of asset you would be to the Men of Letters, able to exorcise demons without a word, kill them just as easily."

Sam swallowed hard, glaring into Ketch's eyes. "No."

Ketch's hand grabbed his chin. "You think I'll give you a choice?"

"I think you can go screw yourself," Sam gritted out.

Ketch sighed heavily and pulled back. "It's going to happen whether you like it or not, Sam. You may as well cooperate so it will be less painful for you."

Sam shook his head as much as he could, keeping his steely gaze on Ketch. "Screw you," he said again, repeating his favorite line from when Lady Bevel had tried to torture him.

"Very well, then," Ketch said and nodded to the woman who had been standing by the table. "Dr. Herriot?"

Dr. Herriot took the cloth from over the tray she had carried in and pulled out a vile of red, viscous liquid. Sam's breath caught in his throat as he saw it. He didn't crave it anymore, but it brought back so many bad memories he didn't want to be in the same room with it. Not unless it was on his knife.

"I trust you're not going to take this like a good boy?" Ketch drawled, cocking an eyebrow.

"No, don't do this," Sam growled, yanking harder on his restraints as the doctor pulled something else from the tray as well before she came over to the chair. Sam wasn't sure what the object was at first, but when he saw the tubing and the funnel-like contraption, he knew exactly what they had planned. "No! Don't!" He renewed his struggles more heartily, keeping his lips pressed shut, but Ketch gripped him by the jaw and plugged his nose.

"This is what you get for choosing the hard way, Winchester," he said with a sadistic smirk as Dr. Herriot readied the force-feeding device.

Sam held out for as long as he could, but eventually he had to breathe and was forced to open his mouth. Ketch wasted no time, shoving something hard between his teeth to keep his mouth open, as Dr. Herriot forced the tubing down his throat.

The demon blood followed soon after, and there was nothing Sam could do about it.

* * *

 _Castiel startled upright as the door_ to his cell was opened. Two guards came in, grabbing his wrists and forcing the sigiled cuffs around them.

"Get off me," Castiel grunted as they hauled him upright, hands clamped firmly on his upper arms. They ignored him, even as he tried to pull free, and marched him quickly down the hall.

They made it to what looked to be the laboratory, bigger than the one in the other compound, and Castiel tried to quell the fear he felt at being here. The tests they'd run on him last time had not been pleasant and he was laboring under no assumption that he'd be treated any better this time.

"Dr. Lionel, we have the angel for you," one of the guards said.

Castiel looked to one side to see the blond haired man standing at one of the tables, readying a tray of instruments. His eyes fell on Castiel, scanning him with appraisal.

"Good, good," the man said, reaching for a box of latex gloves. "Get it on the table."

Castiel renewed his struggles as the two guards pulled him over to a stainless steel table like the one he'd woken up on previously. But his struggles did little good. They were both bigger than he was and with his grace locked down, he was no match for them. One took him under the shoulders and the other grabbed his legs and they lifted him bodily onto the table, the cold metal seeping through Castiel's thin clothing.

Two other scientists came forward and secured his ankles, they unlocked his manacles briefly to secure his wrists into the cuffs on either side of the table. Castiel tugged and shifted uncomfortably, hating this vulnerable position.

Dr. Lionel came over, snapping gloves onto his hands as he addressed his assistants.

"Harker, take down notes," he told a young man who nodded and grabbed an electronic tablet from a nearby table. "Brady, you'll be assisting me."

The other man took one side of the table as Lionel took the other. Castiel flinched as Brady took up a pair of scissors and swiftly cut up the front of Castiel's bloodstained shirt, efficiently pulling it off of him. Lionel untaped the gauze around his shoulder and hmmed thoughtfully.

"Wound almost healed. Looks to be at about a week's healing normal time," he commented. Harker took notes and Brady snapped a picture of the wound on Castiel's shoulder.

"Secure the subject completely," Lionel said as he turned to retrieve his tray of instruments, rolling them over on a small table. As he turned around Castiel saw a patch on the back of his head where his hair grew around a still pink scar. He remembered Dean slamming the man's head into the wall and he smirked inwardly, even though part of him wished Dean had simply finished the man off.

Castiel struggled as Brady pulled several straps across his body, over his legs and hips and chest, keeping him flat.

"Stop," he growled even though it was pointless. He couldn't promise not to struggle.

"Gag it," Lionel told his assistant.

Brady pulled a metal and leather gag off the tray. Castiel didn't make it easy for the assistant though, and tossed his head back and forth. When Brady tried to shove the gag into his mouth, he went to bite the man's fingers and Brady pulled them back with a gasp.

"Brady, get it done!" Lionel snapped.

"I'm trying, Doctor," Brady said helplessly.

Lionel was unimpressed. He snatched the gag from Brady's hand and gripped Castiel's jaw right at the joint. He forced a thumb into Castiel's mouth, behind his teeth and triggered his gag reflex. Castiel's mouth flew open instinctively and in went the gag before Lionel secured it tightly behind his head. It was a cruel contraption that went into his mouth and pressed down on his tongue. He thought it also might be sigiled, but didn't know the purpose of that. Maybe so he couldn't exit his vessel? It was a ridiculous thought—angels didn't just smoke out like demons—but then these were ridiculous people.

"See, you just have to be firm," Lionel growled at his assistants. "You'll have to learn these things eventually. You think an angel is hard, try a vampire or a rugaru."

"Yes, sir," Brady replied, reprimanded.

Lionel rolled his eyes. "Let us begin. Make sure to record all the data, Harker."

Lionel started with a typical examination. They listened to his heart, took his pulse and temperature, and concluded with lots of uncomfortable poking and prodding as well as more pictures. All the while Lionel called out the information he wanted Harker to take down.

Castiel was already feeling extremely violated before they even got to the worse things, which were foretold by the collection of instruments Lionel had put onto the tray.

The first thing Lionel did after the initial exam was bind a length of rubber above the crook in Castiel's arm, before he tapped a vein and drew several vials of blood. It wasn't exactly painful, but Castiel disliked the thought of them having his blood, unsure of what they planned on doing with it.

"We'll move on to the grace sample now," Lionel commented, turning back to the tray.

Castiel started at this comment, glancing wildly at the scientist as he pulled a large syringe from the tray. This was exactly the same contraption Castiel had used to remove Gadreel's grace from Sam.

He struggled but Brady gripped him by the hair and the chin and forced his head to one side, fully exposing his neck to Lionel. He jerked, and let out a muffled grunt as Lionel inserted the syringe into the soft spot between his ear and jawline.

He had not been prepared for the excruciating agony that ripped through, not only his physical body, but his true form. It hadn't even hurt this much when Metatron had _cut_ his grace out. He could intimately feel some of his power, his essence, being syphoned off, torn from the rest of his grace violently. It felt like he was shattering into pieces.

And then it was over, and he was left gasping for breath, nearly hyperventilating since he could only breathe through his nose. He swiftly looked inward to see if any of his grace was left, and found that it was raw, but still there. He turned his eyes to Lionel who was gazing at the syringe he held, now with a fraction of bright bluish-white light swimming around in the glass tube.

"Very nice," he commented.

He then concluded his sample collecting by pulling Castiel's cheek aside from the gag and swabbing it for reasons Castiel thought might have had to do with DNA, and then presumably cut a lock of his hair for the same purpose. He didn't know what they thought they'd find. His body was human, after all.

Lionel carefully packaged up all the samples and put them into a plastic tub. "These should be very informative."

"What's next, sir?" Brady asked.

"I think we'll start the healing observations today," Lionel said, and plucked a scalpel from the tray. "Harker, take note. Test one, stainless steel, first cut one centimeter depth…"

Castiel flinched as Lionel pressed the scalpel into the skin of his forearm and made a thin, shallow cut. This was followed by four more cuts in a row, each deeper than the last. Blood trickled down his arm onto the table and Brady swiped it away with some gauze before snapping a picture.

"Test two, celestial steel, first cut one centimeter depth…" Lionel called out to Harker as he moved around to Castiel's other side, taking an angel blade—Castiel's angel blade—off the tray as he did so.

Castiel struggled again, angered, but he was strapped down too tightly and it was really just a pathetic display that made him feel even more helpless. Lionel repeated the cuts on his other arm, though this time with the angel blade being used, they hurt worse.

Once he had finished and more pictures were taken, Lionel snapped the gloves from his hands and took up the box of samples he had taken without consent from Castiel's body. "Call the guards and have them take the angel back to its cell. Brady, I want you to go every hour and take a picture of the wounds to see their progression until tomorrow's session."

Brady nodded, then went to call the guards and then joined Lionel and Harker at the long table with microscopes and computers, leaving Castiel lying on the table as if they didn't care. And obviously, they didn't. He was worth as much as a lab rat to them.

The guards released him, thankfully removing the gag from Castiel's mouth as well, even though they weren't very gentle about it, and then they marched him back to his cell, not even bothering to bandage the still bleeding wounds on his arms. They didn't cuff him either, which he figured was for the sake of the experiment. He wouldn't heal at all if he had the Enochian spellwork suppressing his grace.

Castiel was shoved back into his cell and the door closed behind him. He went to the shelf above the sink and plucked a new shirt from the pile, slipping it on, careful not to get blood on it. The thin covering wasn't much, but he didn't feel quite so exposed with it on; after everything he'd just been through, he wished he had his usual three layers.

He lay down on the cot, knees pulled toward his chest as he stared blankly at the wall. He was certainly no where near breaking, but he had to admit, somewhat ashamedly, that it had been easier to be defiant the night before when Ketch was simply beating him than after an hour suffering the pokes and prods of Lionel and his scientists. He could deal with beatings, torture—he had many times before. Pain he could work through. But this, the scientists stripping away his humanity a little at a time, treating him like a thing, an animal…he wasn't sure how long he would be able to take that.

But he had to endure. He had to get himself and Sam out of there.

Sam…Castiel wondered what horrors they were subjecting his young friend to. It didn't really bear thinking about except that he couldn't stop himself form doing so.

He tried to force himself to think about Dean instead. He wondered what his other friend was doing right now. Dean had to know they were missing, was probably tearing up the state if not the country already looking for them. Maybe he'd gotten Mary to help, maybe other hunters too, like Jody. Maybe even Crowley, he thought wryly, remembering that the demon had been their salvation before—twice, actually.

Ketch had said they were in a different place, a place Dean wouldn't know, but Castiel knew that didn't matter. Dean could find his brother anywhere, and Castiel was touched to be included in that small and exclusive list of family as well, as was proven to him without doubt during the events that had led him to work with the British Men of Letters and really this whole problem. But now that Dean had two family members missing, Castiel knew the hunter wouldn't stop until he found them.

Castiel had lost faith in a lot of things over the years, but Dean Winchester was not one of them.


	4. Specimen

**Okay guys, I present to you the next chapter of "more reasons to hate the BMoL for your Monday!" LOL**

 **Also, I hope the ethereal imaging thing in this chap makes sense. I was trying to come up with something interesting, but science/technological things aren't really my forte :P**

Chapter Four

Specimen

Sam supposed he should be lucky they hadn't done more to him. He recalled with a shudder the hallucinogenic serum Toni Bevel had used on him before, and knew it could be worse, but still. The demon blood…

Ketch had guards take him back to his cell as soon as they had forced the poison down his throat. It had not been a pleasant experience, the tubing had scraped his throat raw—probably his fault for fighting it so much, but he wasn't just going to sit there and take it _without_ a fight.

Now he could feel the blood starting to pulse through him. He was hot and cold at the same time, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His eyes too, seemed more sensitive even in the dim light of the cell. He curled his long figure onto the cot, arms hugging himself as he shivered. He'd thought about forcing himself to throw up, but it was too late for that now. Ketch had obviously expected him to do anything in his power to defy them, so he'd waited for it to hit Sam's system before he'd let the guards take him back to his cell.

Sam didn't remember the demon blood hurting so much—this felt more like the withdrawals, but he didn't remember much about the first time anyway. He'd been perpetually drunk, distraught over Dean's death, unable to keep his head straight—which was obviously the reason he'd let Ruby coerce him in the first place. Besides, his body hadn't dealt with demon blood for years, it was probably just reacquainting itself with it…something he had never intended to happen.

He gripped his arms so tightly they bruised, as anger and defiance flooded through him. He didn't care how much the Men of Letters tried to force him into this, he wouldn't give them satisfaction. He wouldn't agree to being their attack dog.

He just hoped he was able to keep a good enough hold on himself so that he didn't become lost like he had been before.

Sam didn't know how long it was that he lay there in the fevered, delirious state, before the door opened. He startled, looking up to see four men come through with the female doctor from earlier. They crowded into the small room and the doctor glanced at Sam.

"Hold him down," she said.

"No! What are you doing?" Sam demanded as the men swarmed him, gripping his arms and trying to force him flat onto the cot. Sam wasn't having any of that. He kicked one of the men, and lashed out a fist, connecting with another and almost succeeded in getting free.

Of course they had the inevitable cattle prods, and one was shoved into Sam's side, ceasing his struggles. He felt his body hit the hard floor, and the four guards surrounded him, holding him down with their body weight.

He struggled, but didn't get far. One man crushed his chest, making it hard for him to even draw breath.

The doctor knelt and pulled out another vile of blood and Sam's eyes shot open, as he attempted to renew his struggles. "No! No more!" he tried.

One of the guards simply gripped his jaw, keeping his head still as the doctor swiftly poured the blood into his mouth. The viscous, metallic liquid hit Sam's tongue and made him want to vomit, but the guards forced his mouth closed and covered that and his nose so eventually he was forced to swallow. They even kept up the suffocation for a few long seconds after he had just to make sure, and Sam was seeing spots in front of his eyes by they time they all drew back, climbing to their feet.

Sam was still gulping in deep breaths as they retreated to the door. Sam rolled onto his side, coughing. He forced himself onto his hands and knees, crawling over to the toilet to throw up, but was stopped by a cattle prod in his back, the electricity sending him back to the floor.

They didn't stop until he was twitching and whimpering in a very pitiful manner, blackness tinting the corners of his vision. Sam was too out of it by then to even think of fighting anymore, so he simply surrendered to the darkness completely.

* * *

 _Dean and his mother got to the site of the compound_ a few hours after sunrise. Everything looked calm and quiet as he parked the Impala a little bit away, and they grabbed some weapons and a pair of binoculars to scope the place out at a distance.

"Dean," Mom said quietly as they hiked to a lookout location. "We need to talk about how we're planning to get them out. The Brits run a secure facility and have trained soldiers, it's not just gonna be like running in to save someone from a couple vampires."

"I know," Dean said, trying not to be curt. "But we'll figure this out too. They may outnumber the two of us but I know they don't have as many people as they'd like us to think they do. Why else do you think they keep trying to recruit all the American hunters?" They found a spot on a hilly patch of grass outside the border of the compound and settled down there out of sight of anyone who might be scanning the area. "Once, Sam, Cas and I infiltrated a corporate building where a monster business mogul was trying to hatch an evil plan to make all humans into food. They were pretty high tech too, and were practically unkillable. This is like a milk run in comparison. In cases like this, sometimes it's best to have fewer people. Easier to go under the radar."

Mom gave him a somewhat skeptical look, but shrugged. "True, but it's not going to hurt to know what we're up against."

"I know," Dean muttered. Truthfully, he was having to force himself to be calm right now. The thought of those bastards having Sam and Cas for even this long make his skin crawl. He wanted to crash the gate and go in guns blazing, but he knew Mom was right. If they wanted to succeed in getting Sam and Cas out without getting caught themselves, then it was probably a good idea to actually gain some intel and figure out a workable plan of action.

Though, to be honest, a workable plan of action was not looking too difficult at the moment.

"You seeing any perimeter or gate guards?" Dean asked as he scoped out the area before handing the binoculars to his mom.

She took them and scanned the building and surrounding areas. "No, I'm not."

Dean started to get a weird feeling about this. He studied the facility a little more closely. Nothing gave indication of life at all.

"This is weird," he muttered to himself and stood up.

"Dean," Mom called, but he was already making his way down the hill back toward the Impala.

"I think we need to take a closer look."

He hoped this wasn't a trap but he didn't think the Brits were the kind to leave themselves unprotected just for the sake of catching someone. No, they'd do in when it was least expected, when you felt secure. Then they'd take you in a surprise attack without giving you a chance to fight. Like when you were just trying to get a freaking pizza.

He drove over to the gate of the compound and he and Mom got out of the car, walking over to the chain-link fence. The gate was ajar and he pushed it open fully and slipped through. They both had their guns out and ready but the overall silence told of desertion.

Dean crept toward the entrance to the facility and glanced at the automated scanning device outside the door. It was off, dead, and he simply kicked the door in before stepping inside the building, his mom right behind him.

He knew right away as soon as he stepped inside and he lowered his gun. "No one's here," he growled. "Son of a bitch!"

Now he had no idea where the hell those bastards had taken Sam and Cas.

* * *

 _Castiel tried to rest, having nothing better_ to do in his cell than think and get his strength back, but he was interrupted every hour by Brady who came to take pictures of his wounds. They were healing slowly but steadily. After about five hours the only ones that hadn't healed completely were the two deepest made with his angel blade. Brady found that fascinating. Castiel found it depressing. He could have healed such wounds, even ones made with an angel blade, within seconds, back when he had all of his grace.

He sat cross-legged on the cot, head resting back against the wall. He wasn't sure how long it was—even he couldn't keep track of time in this windowless cell—but his wounds were all healed but one pink scar, when the door to his cell opened again. Two guards came in and simply grabbed him by the arms, hauling him up and out the door again.

"It wouldn't hurt to ask politely, you know," Castiel grunted. Of course they didn't reply. They never acknowledged him. To them he was probably no more than a dog barking. It almost made him wish Ketch had come back. At least he spoke to Castiel and the angel could get a rise out of him—that was actually rather fun really, even if it would probably result in a beating like the last time. It was almost worth it to see a little of the Englishman's carefully crafted veneer slip.

They took him to the laboratory again though this time to another room where there was a table as well as monitors and other machines that Castiel had no idea the use for. It all looked rather high tech. Lionel was waiting there with Brady and Harker, setting things up. Lionel barely spared a glance up when the guards brought him in.

"Thank you, get it on the table," he said.

The two guards swiftly and efficiently stripped him of his t-shirt and manhandled him onto the table, manacling him again. The cuffs today weren't sigiled, which he found odd. He could probably break these if he wanted to, though he figured it wouldn't do much good anyway. Brady came a moment later and finished with the other straps, and then picked up the gag. Castiel met his eyes and was pleased to see the young man swallow hard before Brady attempted to pry Castiel's mouth open. This time Castiel did manage to bite his latex covered fingers and Brady snatched his hand back with a curse.

"Dammit, Brady!" Lionel snapped, shoving the other man aside and snatching the gag again. He grabbed a metal instrument from a nearby table, a pair of forceps or something, and forced it into Castiel's mouth between his teeth, then used it to lever his jaw open. Castiel still struggled as the gag went in and pressed down on his tongue, stopping just before it would reach his gag reflex.

"Be innovative, would you?" Lionel continued.

"Sorry sir," Brady said. But he was wary of Castiel and the angel was going to do his best to keep it that way.

"We'll do the x-rays first," Lionel told his assistants. "Then start our next batch of tests."

Castiel wanted to sigh wearily. Was yesterday not enough?

One of the machines in the room was wheeled over to the side of the table. It had an arm with a wide bar attached to it, and Castiel figured this was some sort of x-ray machine. He didn't know what they expected to find. His body was just like any human's.

"Preliminary scans first," Lionel said, and stepped back as Harker started up the machine.

They moved the arm across Castiel's body from head to foot, and then stopped, pulling it back to its starting point. The images appeared on a screen on the far wall and Castiel saw his skeleton with some overlapping shadows of his internal organs. Nothing unusual there.

"Now use the other setting," Lionel said.

They scanned him again, and this time Castiel frowned as he saw the images that were recorded and sent to the computer. At first it looked like a typical thermal image, but it wasn't quite right. Most of his body registered as dark midnight blue, but with some thin veins of a lighter color shooting through it. Then in the center of his chest, right under his sternum, the veins culminated in a ball of light blue, that slowly changed to white at the center. Castiel narrowed his eyes at it, and then realized with sudden recognition that it must be his grace. His breath caught in his throat. How could they detect this?

Lionel and the other scientists seemed impressed too.

"It works just like we thought it would," Harker exclaimed with satisfaction. "It clearly revels the energy signatures of the angel's grace."

The door opened then, and Castiel looked up, seeing Ketch stride in.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," the Englishman said. "I just thought I might pop in to see how your work is going, Lionel." His eyes fell on Castiel and there was a satisfied look in his eyes that made Castiel clench his fists in anger. He hated being caught in this vulnerable position, especially with Ketch around to gloat at him.

"No, of course, Mr. Ketch, come in, observe," Lionel said congenially. "We were just about to get to the fun stuff."

"Oh, brilliant," Ketch said with a small smirk at Castiel, before glancing up at the screens with an approving sound. "Ah, so I see your imaging programs work exactly as planned, Lionel. I must congratulate you and your team on that. The research department back in London will be very interested in this I'm sure."

"Thank you," Lionel said with a self-satisfied look that made Castiel hate him all the more. "I'm glad to finally be able to test it out on an angel. I had high hopes after the successful tests we did on demons, but it's always lovely to be able to see your work pay off."

"I quite agree," Ketch said, glancing at Castiel as he said it and the angel squirmed slightly under his scrutiny.

"We'll be putting it to good use again shortly," Lionel assured him. "Brady, hook the specimen up to the monitors, please."

Castiel bristled at being referred to as a 'specimen' and watched Brady warily as he fiddled with the set of monitors beside the table. The assistant started sticking nodes attached to wires all over Castiel's upper body and temples. The monitors started taking readings from his body, capturing his pulse and other things he wasn't sure about.

"Now, this is where we really put our ethereal imaging system through its paces," Lionel said as Harker brought the arm of the scanning machine down again and positioned it over Castiel's right arm. He flicked several switches and the image came up on the screen, showing in real time instead of simply capturing the image. Castiel's arm was vaguely outlined and detailed in the midnight blue again with several veins of light blue cutting through it.

Castiel was almost so caught up in watching the screen that he didn't notice Lionel had pulled out his angel blade again until the man positioned it above his arm. Castiel tried to jerk away on principal but obviously couldn't move. The blade pierced his flesh, and Lionel made a long cut from the inside of his elbow to his wrist. The heart monitor beeped a little faster as his heart kicked into gear, and he was slightly ashamed of that, but Harker seemed to find it interesting.

Despite the pain, Castiel noticed them watching the screen and he looked up too, seeing the flare of white register where the blade cut through him, as grace sparked out of the wound in real life.

As Lionel put the blade aside, Castiel watched with the rest of them as the screen showed his grace flowing slowly through his veins, leaving tracks of light blue, as it made its way toward the wound where it culminated in a brighter and brighter spot.

"Fascinating," Ketch commented.

Castiel glanced at his wound, seeing his grace glowing in the cut as it started to heal the wound. The cut wasn't deep, but Castiel's grace was still so weakened that it was a sluggish process. Though the scientists and Ketch seemed to find it interesting.

"The angelic grace is acting like white blood cells normally would in a human body," Brady commented as he watched. "It rushes to the site of the injury and starts healing."

Harker was busy taking notes, and Lionel looked like this was one of the best things that had ever happened. "This is brilliant. Think of what we can do with this technology, this knowledge. Perhaps eventually, with the tests we do here, we can figure out how to replicate the angel's healing ability for our own operatives."

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the man. What an idiot. Didn't he understand? His grace was not something of simple science, it was the purest essence of an angel's power, a gift from God. It could not, _should not_ , be utilized by humans. Of course, even if he could speak, he knew they wouldn't bother listening to him. He just took comfort in the fact that any experiments they would try would most likely fail. Possibly catastrophically.

"Doctor, look at this!"

Lionel turned to see Harker had started moving the wand of the imaging system over Castiel's body again, and had stopped up by his right shoulder.

"Oh my," Ketch said, leaning over Harker's shoulder to see the built in screen on the machine. "Can you make that bigger?"

Harker sent the image to the big screen on the wall and Castiel finally saw what had gotten them so excited. He was shocked to see the outline of feathers appear in a ghostlike state, shot through with white veins of grace. Apparently the imaging system was able to pick up his wings on the ethereal plane.

He shifted his incorporeal wings to tuck them close to his body away from the scanner. He felt suddenly even more violated than before, not wanting them to see his wings, especially in the poor state they were in. Truthfully, he didn't want to see them either.

"Well," Lionel stated slowly. "That was certainly more than I anticipated. I think this study is going to prove much more informative than I thought."

"Indeed," Ketch said, eyeing Castiel in a way that made his skin crawl. He had a terrible feeling about what they had planned for him next.

* * *

 _Sam came to groggily as his door opened_. He realized he was lying on his face on the cold floor, and tried to push himself up, but the guards who came in simply shoved him back onto his face and cuffed his hands behind him. Sam grunted as he was hauled to his feet. His body still ached, but not as much as before. His shirt clung to his torso with sweat, and he could feel the blood singing through his veins like he'd just drunk about ten espressos. Evil espressos.

He was hauled back to the laboratory but this time to a different room. This one had monitors and other stuff he was too fuzzy to think about.

And Arthur Ketch.

"Sam," the Englishman said with false congeniality. "Have a good power nap?"

"Screw you," Sam said, but only half-heartedly. He was honestly just exhausted and wanted to do his best to sleep this latest hit of demon blood off. Even though he knew it didn't work that way—it always came with a horrific withdrawal stage that was far worse than this. However, he'd take anything to get this out of his system.

Ketch shook his head. "Eloquent as always, I see. Well, you won't have to do much but relax and listen."

The guards shoved Sam toward the metal table in the center of the room and pushed him down on it. Sam struggled as they strapped him in, but frankly, as long as they weren't planning on forcing more blood down his throat, he wasn't exactly complaining.

The guards left and a young man in a labcoat entered, moving over to one of the machines.

"This is Harker," Ketch said. "He's one of the boffins here. Helped make this…thing. Tell Sam what this is, Harker."

"It's an ethereal imagining system," the young man said. "It's sort of a cross between an x-ray and a thermal imaging system, but it shows supernatural anomalies instead."

Okay, so if it wasn't for the situation, Sam would probably think that was pretty awesome. But he'd long ago given up praising the Men of Letters for their ingenuity. After all, they'd created a bullet that had dropped Cas in a second and left him paralyzed.

Harker rolled the machine over to the table and positioned the wand over Sam's head. The hunter looked up with a frown as Harker scanned him, then pressed a few buttons and an image popped up on a large screen on the wall.

"Oh, nasty stuff that demon blood," Ketch commented. "I had no idea it was that potent."

Sam looked at the picture, seeing the outline of his body, mostly just looking like a greyish shadow, but there were red veins roping through him, giving him an uneasy feeling, especially when he saw an angry tangle of red and black cloud in the center of his chest.

"Do you see that, Sam?" Ketch asked him, coming to stand by the head of the table. "That's showing just how much of a monster you are."

"No," Sam shook his head, clenching his jaw. "It's just the demon blood. I'm not like that anymore."

Ketch gave a low chuckle. "I beg to differ, look how well it seems to thrive in your body, like it belongs there. Harker, do you have an image of one of the demon scans you did?"

Harker nodded and another image came up. This one showed a black figure with a red tangle at the center of its chest, looking like a larger scale of what was happening in Sam's body. He swallowed hard, his stomach lurching. No, that couldn't be possible. He couldn't resemble a demon that much.

"See, Sam? It's your true nature coming out. Showing you your true potential. You should be grateful, really. We're giving you the opportunity to do good with your…affliction."

"Do good?" Sam demanded. " _Grateful_? I'm a hunter. I hunt demons, I always have. This, the demon blood, that's not who I am. It was a bad mistake I made a long time ago, like someone doing drugs, okay? But I got clean!" He refused to let Ketch make him feel like a blood sucking freak again. It had taken so long to forgive himself for that mistake. So long to be okay with who he was now. This bastard had no right to just take all that and tear it up in front of his face again.

Ketch seemed to be enjoying his protests. "Oh, Sam, why bother trying to fight it? Before you're done here, you'll have reached your true potential. I'll make sure of that. I'm sure soon you'll be one of our best assets."

"Never. I will never cooperate!" Sam shouted, struggling against his restraints.

Ketch sighed and turned to Harker instead. "Might I have a printout of this image?" he asked.

The assistant nodded and pressed a button on the machine. A few seconds later a colored print of Sam's demonically infused body popped out and Harker handed it to Ketch.

"Perfect," he murmured, then went to the door and called for the guards. "That's all for today, Sam. Thank you for your cooperation."

Sam was too angry to come up with a good reply. He was still seething as he was unstrapped from the table and taken back to his cell.

* * *

 _Ketch made his way to Davies' office_ after finishing with Sam. He smiled to himself as he recalled the horrified look on the younger Winchester's face. Yes, he was well on his way to breaking that one down. Of course, he knew Sam would still be defiant, probably push the limits, but Ketch had a plethora of ideas on how to get him to cooperate. If his body didn't just take over for him, doing what it was meant to do.

He found Mick having a cup of tea, as he talked on the phone.

"Just keep me updated," he said in closing, and hung up.

"Trouble?" Ketch asked almost hopefully, cocking an eyebrow.

Davies shrugged. "I just got word that Dean and Mary Winchester showed up at the old site this morning."

Ketch smiled at this, imaging Dean's frustration. "They won't find us here, at least not for a long while. And if they get too close, well, I'd be more than happy to take care of them."

"I'm sure you would," Davies said blandly, leaning back in his chair. "How're the projects going?"

"Oh, good," Ketch said. "We've started Sam on a strict demon blood regimen and the angel has already proven its worth to Lionel by providing several interesting discoveries. He's practically like a child at Christmas with all the research gold he's hitting."

"Well, at least you'll have something to report to London at the end of the week," Davies said tiredly. "After that last fiasco with the Winchesters our recruitment drive has gone from bad to worse."

"It's no matter," Ketch said, already bored with the idea of working with American hunters. They were vulgar and base, after all, without a smidgeon of finesse. "We will still be effective here, with or without them."

Davies grunted a bit skeptically, then reached over to a pile of mail on his desk, pulling a flat, square box out. "Oh, by the way, this came for you from the R&D department in London."

"Ah, perfect timing," Ketch took the package with a grin, and pulled out a knife to slit it open. He looked into the box and gave a pleased glance at the contents. "Yes, this will do beautifully."

He couldn't wait to try it out.

* * *

 _After Lionel had finished with Castiel_ he was carted back to his cell, his wound still in the process of healing. They'd apparently gotten everything they had needed from him. He was left vaguely disturbed at their interest in his wings, but he didn't think there was a way they could make them manifest without his consent. Even Sam and Dean probably didn't know he _could_ manifest his wings onto the physical plane if he wanted to. Angels just didn't do that. It left them too vulnerable since their wings essentially represented their true selves, a physical manifestation of their essence, similar to a human's soul. He didn't want to think of the amount of knowledge the Men of Letters could gather about angels if they managed to force his wings onto this plane. And just the thought of their clinical hands poking and prodding them made him shudder in disgust.

It was only a couple hours after he'd been put back in his cell that it was opened again, this time revealing Ketch. Castiel glared up at him as the Englishman came into the room, a postal box under one arm.

"What do you want?" Castiel asked him.

"To bring you something—think of it as a housewarming gift for your new—permanent—residence."

"You shouldn't have," Castiel replied blandly and watched warily as Ketch opened the box and pulled out a large silver ring.

Castiel frowned, unsure of what it was, but knowing it couldn't be good if the gleam in Ketch's eyes was any indication. "What is that?"

"This? This is a marvel of engineering," Ketch said in admiration, tracing a finger over the ring. "After our last…kerfuffle…I commissioned the boffins in our London R&D department to come up with something for me." He approached Castiel's cot and the angel fought not to flinch away, simply sitting there as if he didn't care. Until Ketch pulled the ring apart at a spot where there was a small loop sticking up and opened the ring, hinging it in half.

Castiel saw what it was then, and he made to stand up, but Ketch simply shoved him hard in the chest, forcing him back down.

"Don't," Castiel ground out as Ketch crowded in on him, grabbing the fist Castiel lashed out with and swiftly wrenching it behind the angel's back, effectively shoving him face first into the cot and keeping him there with his body weight. Castiel struggled as Ketch managed to get the ring around his throat, and lock it back together.

"All dogs must be collared after all," Ketch said as he released Castiel and stepped back. Castiel surged upright, grasping at the collar, and trying to pry it open again.

"Don't bother, it can only be opened with this," Ketch said, tugging his left sleeve a few inches up his arm to reveal a silver band around his wrist. He touched it and sigils came to life around the circle, glowing, and Castiel realized his collar was doing the same thing, causing an uncomfortable tingle to run through his grace.

"And it's not just a collar," Ketch said proudly as he rotated his wrist, looking at the various sigils. "As you can tell, it's Enochian. It can power on and off, so it can keep your powers bound when they need to be, and unbind them when Lionel needs to do his tests like earlier today. Oh, and my favorite feature, it also acts as a shock collar for when you've been a bad little angel."

Ketch touched another sigil and Castiel suddenly felt a surge of fire rip through his body, both his vessel and his grace. He collapsed sideways on the cot, fingers tearing at the collar, a scream ripped unbidden from his throat.

"Oh yes," Castiel heard Ketch say in a pleased voice as his ears finally stopped ringing. "This was definitely worth the wait. I must remember to send a thank you note to the engineers in London."

Castiel forced himself upright with shaky arms, breathing heavily as he turned to glare at Ketch. "This doesn't mean you've broken me," he ground out. "You may put a leash on me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to roll over for you."

"Oh, I know," Ketch admitted. "I know it will be harder than that. That's why I'd like to talk about Sam."

Castiel felt ice replace the previous fire in his veins at the mention of his friend. "What have you done with him?" he demanded coldly, fists clenching.

Ketch just smiled for a moment, obviously enjoying Castiel's helpless rage.

"Ketch, what have you done?" he demanded again.

"Exactly what I told you I would do if you told the Winchesters about our arrangement," Ketch said. "I at least am a man of my word."

Castiel's heart was pounding, his stomach roiling sickly. He didn't want to know the answer, but he had to. "Ketch, what did you do to him?"

"Sam is going to be our next best weapon," Ketch said. "A few weeks of training and taking his daily vitamins and Sam Winchester will be our number one cure for demons in America."

"No," Castiel said, shaking his head. "You did not give him demon blood."

"Come now, halo, you knew this was inevitable," Ketch said.

"You're lying," Castiel tried to reason. Denial wasn't usually his thing, but he couldn't quite make himself believe Ketch just yet either. He didn't want to.

"Why should I?" Ketch asked, cocking an eyebrow. "It's not like I wouldn't."

It was true, Castiel knew. Even if Ketch was just saying it to get at him, it wasn't like he would refrain from doing the exact thing he claimed to have done.

"Besides, I have proof," Ketch said and reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Castiel who unfolded it and frowned, unsure of what it was he was looking at. It looked almost like the scan they'd done on him earlier but with black and red in place of the blue and white.

"I had Harker do one of those ethereal imaging scans on Sam after I gave him the demon blood," Ketch said. "The black and red indicate demonic power. So your precious Sam Winchester isn't the saint everyone thinks he is."

"You can't do this to him," Castiel growled, crushing the picture between his hands as he glowered dangerously at Ketch. He started forward instinctively. "You son of a bitch—"

Fire ripped through him and he dropped to his knees with a scream, hands going to the collar again as it felt like it was burning its way straight through him.

Ketch didn't let up for a long moment and when he finally did, Castiel collapsed, bracing himself with his hands and panting for breath. Ketch stepped forward and reached down, grabbing a fistful of Castiel's hair and pulling his head up.

"I know you said you're not in the habit of begging," he said in a low, dangerous voice. That of a predator. "But I think we both know you'll change your tune right quick when it comes to others besides yourself."

He released him and turned toward the door. Castiel heard the click of the lock engaging after Ketch shut it behind him.

Only then did he haul himself up on his shaking legs to sit on the cot again. He bent over, putting his face in his hands as he breathed through the lingering pain. The collar pressed uncomfortably against his windpipe in this position, but he didn't move either. He couldn't believe he'd let this happen. After everything, all the promises he made, he'd still managed to end up exactly where Ketch and the Men of Letters wanted him, and Sam was suffering for it now too. He couldn't imagine how this was tearing his friend apart. Sam had struggled so long to overcome the demon blood addiction and the darkness—the uncleanness—he felt was inside of him because of it. Even if this wasn't his choice, this still had to be doing some psychological damage to him. Especially if Ketch had shown Sam the image of himself—and of course he had, the sadistic bastard. The thought of Sam physically seeing the darkness in himself from the demon blood made Castiel sick to his stomach. How could he have let this happen to one of his best friends, his surrogate brother?

"I'm so sorry, Sam," he whispered into the silence of his cell, and a tear slid down his cheek.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never seem to stop messing up.


	5. Descent

**Thanks to my Guest reviewer! I'm glad you are liking this story :)**

 **Also, I have finally gotten an account on Ao3 (Under the same username) so you can read my stories over there now! It will take me a while to get everything up there, but I'm working on it slowly. And the stories I'm currently posting will go up there at the same time.**

Chapter Five

Descent

Castiel didn't think it was fully morning by the time the guards came back for him, but then, he was finding it harder and harder to keep track of the hours. He'd spent a restless night, sick with thoughts of Sam all alone, probably in another cell, and forced to drink the demon blood he had sworn never to touch again. And the heavy collar Ketch had locked around his neck was a constant reminder of just how bad their situation was. Castiel wouldn't even be surprised if his collar was programmed to keep him from leaving the compound at all. That leaving the facility might set it off like a dog's shock collar.

Lionel and his assistants were waiting for the guards to bring Castiel to them. Today, they didn't strap him to the table, a fact he wasn't sure whether he was relieved about or not. But they also didn't gag him, which he was grateful for. They simply made short work of sticking various sensors on his skin and then Lionel turned to the guards and said, "We're going to the ice box today."

Castiel wasn't sure what that meant, but they marched him down a hallway of the laboratory to a small door at the end of the hall.

When Lionel opened it, a wash of freezing air poured out and Castiel finally realized what their motives were when the guards pushed him inside and fastened a chain around the loop on his collar before attaching it to a ring on the wall to keep him from moving.

"Harker, start the time for the experiment now," Lionel said. "We'll check back in one hour to see the progress."

Castiel surged forward, but the door was shut in his face and the short lead on his collar snapped tight. He let out a frustrated sigh and sank against the side of the freezer. He could withstand the cold for more than an hour—at least he hoped so. When he had his full power, he couldn't really feel the cold at all, his grace had kept his body warm, and therefore his vessel wouldn't even have suffered frostbite. Now though, he wasn't sure how long he could last if they decided to keep him in here for several hours.

He looked around, seeing a couple shelves against the back wall that looked like they held samples and other things that were best kept cold. There was also a rolling metal table about the size for a human body parked against the wall opposite him. He could guess what that was for.

Castiel pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to conserve as much body heat as he could, without knowing when he'd start to feel the cold. He felt the sensors they had stuck to him under his t-shirt and thought about tearing them off for a minute before he realized it wouldn't be worth it. They'd just come in and put them back on, probably restrain him more thoroughly, and he'd be stuck in the freezer for longer.

Castiel sighed, his breath leaving a puff of vapor in the cold air. He settled his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, wondering where Dean was right now.

* * *

 _Dean and his mother had gone back_ to the bunker to regroup after they had scoured the deserted Men of Letters compound for any sign of where the Brits might have gone. But Her Majesty's Assholes had erased their tracks very thoroughly and had left nothing for them to go on. Dean was about ready to eat nails.

Mom came in from the bunker's kitchen with two cups of coffee, setting one in front of him as he sat at his laptop looking at news reports as well as police reports filed in the nearby cities, just in case Sam and Cas might have ended up in a hospital somewhere—or a morgue. He didn't want to think about it like that, but he had to accept that any possibility, especially the worst ones, were definitely within reason. Of course, if the Men of Letters killed them, would their bodies ever show up at all or would they just be perpetually missing?

Mom sat down with Sam's laptop on the other side of the table, opening it resignedly. "I'm not really sure how to help with this," she admitted ruefully. "Is there anything specific I can do?" She sounded as helpless as Dean felt and he sighed, rubbing his eyes and grabbing his mug to take a long draft of hot coffee.

"I think the first step is to call around to everyone we know, hunters, people associated with hunters, hell, I'll even call Crowley if that will help. The Brits were trying to recruit us, they've probably approached any hunter they could track down. Some of them have got to have at least an idea of where the Brits' new place is. At least maybe a ballpark, a general area."

Mom nodded, already pulling her phone out of her pocket. "I can do that. This might help to give them a warning too. Make sure they don't sign on."

Dean nodded in agreement, getting up from the table to rummage through his duffle bag. "Exactly. We all know how hunters react to this kind of crap."

"Not well," Mom admitted wryly.

"Here, this is my address book," Dean told her, setting a small book down beside her. "Don't know how many phone numbers are still working there, especially with the British invasion, but we'll hope for the best."

Mom nodded and started flipping through the book, punching in a number.

Dean took out his phone and called Jody first.

"Dean, what's up?" she greeted.

"Hey, Jody, wish I had good news," he said tiredly.

"That doesn't sound good," she replied. "What have you and Sam gotten into now?"

"The Brits took him and Cas," Dean told her grimly. "And they seem to have disappeared. Their old compound is completely deserted and they didn't leave a forwarding address. Have any of those bastards tried to recruit you?"

"Not yet," she admitted. "If they do, want me to say yes, see if I can get in? Do a little snooping?"

"Hell no," Dean said quickly. "Stay away from them if you can. I was wondering if you could look into suspicious activity; try to find if they got a new place. I don't really know what to look for here. Last time when they had Cas we shook down Davies but they're all squirreled away somewhere and I don't think they're going to be drawn out so easily this time."

"I doubt it," Jody said with a sigh. "I'll do whatever I can, Dean, we'll get Sam and Cas back, don't worry. Maybe try checking for people buying out of the way properties in the area? They probably wouldn't have moved too far from their original base."

"Yeah, that might not be a bad place to start," Dean admitted.

"Well, keep me updated, and I'll do anything I can to help. And Dean, don't do anything stupid."

"Won't make any promises," he said before saying goodbye and hanging up.

He glanced at his mom who was currently talking to another hunter, and then flipped through his contact list again, realizing how many numbers on his phone were irrelevant due to the people being deceased. He swallowed hard, as he scrolled past Charlie's name. He could really use her right now. She could probably have tracked down Sam and Cas in a matter of minutes.

He was determined that he wouldn't lose any more of his family. Not this time. And when he found that bastard Ketch, he wasn't going to pull any punches.

* * *

 _Castiel was starting to feel the cold._

It wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but he could definitely sense the cold on his skin, and felt his body temperature dropping as the hour dragged on. The metal collar around his neck was freezing, but it was too tight to pull away from even a part of his skin for a moment. He could feel his grace pulsing through his body like a shot of adrenaline every once in a while to warm it up but he knew that keeping this exercise up for too long would drain him. He decided he wouldn't mind a blanket or a hot cup of coffee right about now.

He lost track of time, but finally heard someone opening the door and looked up to see Lionel and Brady come into the room. Brady was punching at a tablet and Lionel came to crouch next to Castiel who glared at him.

"What's the body temp?" Lionel asked Brady.

The assistant looked at the tablet, obviously reading something from one of the sensors stuck to Castiel. "Only at 96.3. That's all it dropped."

Lionel hummed in thought as he checked Castiel's pulse.

"You could just ask me if I'm cold," Castiel grunted.

Lionel ignored him though and stood. "A very interesting preliminary test," he said. "We shall pursue this again at a later date, but Mr. Ketch urged us to do what the higher-ups back in London want, which is to create new weapons." He seemed slightly annoyed by this. Honestly, Castiel couldn't care less, because no matter what they did, it meant either pain, discomfort, or degradation to him.

"Should we start the immunity tests today?" Brady inquired.

Lionel nodded slowly. "That would be a good place to start. I have been wanting to test out some of the typical substances we use. After viewing the specimen's healing factor I'm even more intrigued—especially to gauge it against the tests we did on demons."

Castiel again hated hearing the term 'specimen'. He stood up suddenly, his knees slightly stiff from keeping them in one position in the cold for so long, and caused Lionel to startle back a step. "My name is Castiel, you know."

Lionel shot a look of distaste toward Brady. "We should always gag it before we start anything. It's impossible to concentrate when they talk all the time."

"At least it's not as mouthy as the demons," Brady replied blandly.

Castiel opened his mouth to retort again, but the guards came and unchained him, marching him back out to the room he'd been in the previous day with all the machines. Castiel almost breathed a sigh of relief to feel the warm air on his body again. He'd been getting genuinely cold toward the end. His skin tingled slightly as it warmed up, causing goose bumps to break out over his arms and back.

They strapped him onto the table with swift efficiency and this time Brady succeeded in getting his gag in, though Castiel still didn't make it easy for him. Unfortunately, the young man seemed to be getting more cautious.

They hooked him up to more machines while he wondered what 'immunity tests' entailed.

He found out soon enough as Brady and Harker finished setting everything up and Lionel approached with a tray of various syringes. Harker stood by like he usually did to take notes.

"The first is a control test, so we'll use something less lethal just to judge reaction and get an idea of dosage levels," Lionel told his assistants. Castiel's eyes widened in alarm at the term 'less lethal'. "I think we'll start with rohypnol."

Lionel took up one syringe and inserted it into Castiel's arm. He flinched slightly just at the contact. Brady moved to work the ethereal imaging system, obviously taking note of the effect the drug was having on Castiel physically.

Castiel himself didn't feel much. Maybe a bit of strangeness. He might be slightly dizzy if he tried to stand up, but he didn't think human drugs really had much of an effect on him. He began to relax slightly and would have given a smug smile if it hadn't been for the gag. If they thought they would find anything to hurt him among human drugs and poisons then they were very wrong.

After a few minutes of Lionel checking the monitors and the imaging system for any change, Castiel felt all vestiges of the drug that had ever been there leave his system.

"Well, that one had little to no effect," Lionel said. "At a later date, we may attempt the same experiment with larger doses and see if anything changes, but for now we can move on."

The next couple hours passed with Lionel inserting needles into Castiel's skin and watching the effects of various poisons. Some of the more potent ones like cyanide had more of an effect on him, and actually caused discomfort. It made him dizzy, nauseas, and his breathing became somewhat labored. But it only lasted a few minutes before his grace burned it out. He wondered if the cyanide had effected him because of its potency, or if it was more because his grace was just getting more and more worn with the constant healing.

Either way, Lionel seemed very interested with the results he was getting.

As Castiel was recovering from the cyanide, the door to the room opened and Ketch came striding in. Castiel's eyes instantly went to the silver cuff that just showed peeking from under his sleeve.

"How's it going, Lionel?" he asked brightly.

"We've had some very interesting results today," the scientist said. "So far I haven't been able to find any typical drug or poison that truly effects the angelic species. Of course, I may up the doses at a later date and see if that has more of an effect. But even now, it seems that even if the poison effects the specimen a little, the symptoms last only as long as it takes the angelic healing factor to kick in."

"Hmm, interesting," Ketch said, eyeing Castiel again in that creepy way the angel hated.

"It's looking like sigils are still the best and easiest way to subdue an angel in a pinch," Lionel commented.

"Oh, that reminds me," Ketch said, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a vial of red liquid. Castiel frowned, thinking it was blood, but wondering what kind. "I thought you could add this to your experiment. I'm desperately curious to see how demon blood would effect an angel."

Demon blood? Castiel frowned, wondering what effect it _would_ have. As far as he knew it had never been used like this. He wasn't sure it would have any effect at all. He certainly didn't think it would turn him 'dark' like it had done Sam. Even your typical human wouldn't react that way to demon blood; it was just Sam's psychic powers that had made him that way.

"Well, I suppose we could try it out just to see. I'm about ready to wrap up for the day anyway," Lionel said and took the blood from Ketch. He filled a syringe and inserted it into Castiel's arm once again.

Castiel waited with the others for several long seconds, feeling no different. Then…

He flinched. He felt a slight burn in the spot of the injection, and then traveling up his arm. Another few seconds and the pain hit him like a semi truck.

Castiel jerked against the restraints, letting out a muffled cry of pain past his gag. He could say he felt like he was burning from the inside out, but that would actually be an understatement. In reality, it felt more like the demon blood was attacking his grace and tearing it into tiny pieces. He really hoped that wasn't what was actually happening.

He writhed on the metal table, yanking at his restraints. The feeling was encompassing his whole body now, and the pain intensified to the point that it felt like every molecule in his body was being torn asunder. He screamed again, no longer in control of his body, just wanting to _get this out!_

He was barely aware of his surroundings anymore. He could hear some voices as if from far away, but he was already too far gone for that, and he welcomed the blackness that came to claim him. Anything but this pain was preferable.

* * *

" _I truly had no idea it would have that effect,"_ Ketch told Lionel for the umpteenth time, annoyed that the man was angry with _him._ He'd just been trying to further scientific research, and the halo _was_ fine. Mostly.

"We're just lucky it didn't die!" Lionel snapped. "Though from the scans, it looks like the demon blood may have weakened its grace significantly. Now I'll have to wait to see if it regenerates before I do some of my next tests, which were very important."

Ketch wasn't chastened in the least, even when Lionel had angrily called Davies in. As if the little paper pusher would simply slap Ketch's hand and send him to bed without supper.

"Look, Lionel, I apologize that Mr. Ketch almost ruined your experimentation. I did warn him about messing with the angel," Davies said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Ketch let out a hefty sigh. "I simply suggested the demon blood, it was Lionel who thought it was a good idea. You cannot blame me for it, and your specimen is still intact. It will be fine once it rests and sweats this out. Trust me, that infernal halo is harder to kill than you think."

Lionel still looked like he had sucked a lemon. "Look, Ketch, I don't care about your petty revenge, and neither does Dr. Hess and the higher-ups in London. They want results and new gear and I can't provide that unless I'm allowed to work. We will likely not get another opportunity to work on an angel like this for a while and I'm not going to let you waste it!"

"I'm sure Mr. Ketch agrees with you," Davies said in that overly pleasant tone he always affected, making Ketch want to vomit.

"Of course," he agreed blandly, just to get them both to shut up. "On the other hand, Lionel, if the halo's grace is weakened, you may take this as a prime opportunity to try out that sigil you found. It shouldn't matter how good of condition the specimen is in to do that, will it?"

Lionel looked thoughtful, some of the anger disappearing from his face. "I suppose I could. It might actually be better with the angel at lower power."

"Brilliant," Ketch said with a smile. "Now, I was wondering if I might borrow a vile of the angel's blood? I have a couple experiments of my own that I want to conduct."

* * *

 _Sam had spent the night in a turmoil of emotions_. He wasn't going to let Ketch get to him, he'd long gotten over the idea of being a freak, but at the same time, the image of what the demon blood had done to his body scared him, he wasn't gonna lie. And he could feel the demon blood inside of him, roiling and dark. It brought back too many memories he had wanted to forget, ones he'd allowed to slip to the back of his mind. They'd all been dredged up again, thanks to that bastard Ketch and the British Men of Letters. Sam wanted to kill them more than ever now.

He was also worried about what they were doing to Cas. He didn't think the angel was fairing any better than he was. In fact, he was probably worse off.

Sam picked at the breakfast they had left him, not hungry. He did try to eat as much as he could stomach though, hoping it would combat the demon blood, make it less potent, as if it was just liquor or something. He snorted derisively.

Footsteps sounded out and the door was opened. Sam stood up from the bed, and saw Ketch standing there.

"Good morning, Sam, ready to get to work?" the Englishman asked.

"Screw you," Sam replied blandly.

Ketch pressed his lips together and pulled a cattle prod from behind his back. "Let me rephrase that. Come with me, now, no other options, or I can make this so much more difficult for you."

Sam glowered at him, his jaw ticking, then strode forward with resignation. Ketch grabbed his arm and ushered him out of the cell and down the hall. Sam thought it was odd that Ketch hadn't brought guards with him this time. He couldn't decide whether he thought that was a good thing or not. On one hand, Ketch was probably more confident in his own abilities than he should be, but on the other, this place might be so hard to escape that they're not worried at all about Sam getting free. Sam suspected it was a mixture of both, but as much as he wanted to grab Ketch's wrist and force the cattle prod into the Brit's thigh right now, he refrained.

They came to another cell about ten doors down from his own, and Ketch put his hand on the pad and opened it, pushing Sam in ahead of him.

Sam was surprised to see a demon standing in the middle of the cell in a devil's trap, shackles around his hands and feet. He snarled at Ketch but his expression changed when he looked at Sam.

"Well, would you look at that," he said, his eyes flicking black. "Sammy Winchester, the boy with the demon blood once again. Never thought I'd see the day."

Ketch pulled a bottle out of his pocket and threw holy water over the demon who hissed and jerked back.

"Yes, Sam is getting back to strength," the Englishman said. "You're going to be his first test."

"No," Sam said firmly. "I'm not going to do this."

"Please tell me you're not sentimental about demons now as well as angels," Ketch sighed, rolling his eyes.

Sam glared at him. "I'm not going to use the demon blood. You can force as much of it down my throat as you want to, but you can't make me use the powers unless I want to."

Ketch raised an eyebrow, a small smile quirking up one side of his mouth. "Is that a challenge?"

"It's a promise," Sam told him. Then turned to the demon. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas_ …"

"You little bastard," Ketch snapped, and shoved the cattle prod into Sam's side.

The hunter yelped and staggered to his knees but kept going, finishing off the exorcism before Ketch could stop him. The demon threw back his head and black smoke poured from his mouth. The body collapsed and a second later the man moaned. Sam breathed out in surprise that the man was still alive.

Then Ketch was hauling him to his feet again, hand clamped tightly around his shoulder. "That was a foolish move, Sam."

"That man is alive," Sam said as Ketch pulled him out of the cell and back down the hall to his own. "That's what you're trying to accomplish here isn't it? See, it's not that hard to simply exorcise a demon."

Ketch threw him back against the wall, and Sam's head hit painfully, but he stayed silent as the Brit pressed a forearm across Sam's throat. "You will learn to obey the orders given to you. This is not going to get easier, Sam, and that's the only warning I'm going to give you." He grabbed his shoulder again and hauled him several more feet to his cell door. Ketch opened it and shoved Sam inside, then followed. Sam was surprised when Ketch simply hauled back and punched him in the face.

Sam staggered with a grunt as a knee slammed into his stomach. He lost his breath and fell to his knees. Ketch was instantly on him, forcing him to the ground face first and kneeling on Sam's arms so he couldn't hit him. It hurt, and Sam tried to buck Ketch's weight off his back, but the Englishman held firm.

"You may as well accept that this is your life now, Sam," Ketch said. He was doing something over Sam's head but the hunter couldn't turn far enough to see what. "Your brother won't rescue you, and even if, by some miracle, he finds this place, I'll kill him personally before he ever gets inside. I suggest you learn to cooperate, otherwise things are just going to get so much worse for you."

Sam grunted, squirming again. "You may think you can break me down, but I'll tell you the same thing I told Toni Bevel. I've been tortured by the Devil himself. Do you think you can break me with a little demon blood?"

"Whether I break you or not, really doesn't matter," Ketch said. "You _will_ eventually do what we wish one way or another—that's a promise. If for nothing more than your next hit of demon blood. You know well enough how you will come to crave it, Sam, so you shouldn't pretend that isn't going to happen." He was silent for a second, still doing something out of Sam's line of sight, before he continued. "But until that time, I'm simply going to sit back and enjoy watching you writhe in pain. Do you know what demons' blood does to angels, Sam?"

Sam froze. He didn't know what it did, but from the tone of Ketch's voice he knew it couldn't be good. "What did you do to Cas?" he demanded coldly.

Ketch chuckled coldly. "Oh, let's just say that your pet's not feeling very well right now. But I got to thinking, if demons' blood has such an ill effect on angels, then what would angel's blood do to someone who has been drinking demons' blood?" He reached down and grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair, wrenching his head to one side. "Well, we're about to find out."

"No," Sam struggled, but felt a needle jabbed into his neck. Ketch pressed the plunger and then pulled the needle free, finally getting off of Sam. Sam hurriedly climbed to his feet, a hand pressed to his neck where the prick mark was stinging.

Ketch was smiling at him. "I'll be back to see the results later. I have a feeling this isn't going to be a fun trip, Sam."

Sam lunged at him, but Ketch was quick to retreat out the door and slam it behind him. Sam slammed his fist into it once in defiance.

Sam returned to his cot and slumped down on it. The blood— _was it Cas'?—_ was making him feel uncomfortable already. But it wasn't until a few minutes later that he suddenly felt horribly nauseas. A wave of illness washed over him and he only barely got to the toilet before he threw up. He retched until nothing came up, and by then, his body was on fire. He couldn't help a strangled cry. He fought the urge to claw at his skin, but it felt like he was burning from the inside out. He could almost feel the angel blood combatting the demon blood in his system and he wasn't sure he'd ever felt anything quite this painful.

He curled up on the cold floor, a ball of agony, and wondered how long this was going to last.

But even then, he knew he could never give in to Ketch, because the results of actually using the demon powers again were so much greater than this. Pain? He could take pain.

Anything was better than losing himself.


	6. Keep Fighting

**Here's a little break in all that hurt for some comfort before things go completely to hell :P Enjoy!**

Chapter Six

Keep Fighting

Castiel came to slowly. His whole body felt as if he had been flayed alive. Everything was sore, sensitive to the slightest touch and movement, and he had that full body weariness you got after a bad fever. He lay on whatever surface he was on for a long moment, eyes still closed, trying to breathe through it. Something was in his mouth though, just on the verge of choking him, and he struggled to raise a hand to see what it was.

He found leather and metal under his fingers and groaned, fumbling at the back of his head to undo the gag the scientists hadn't bothered to take off of him. He finally pried his eyes open as he fought to get it off, realizing he was back in his cell, lying on the uncomfortable cot. It took him a long couple minutes of struggling with the gag to get it off with his shaky fingers. Finally though, he was able to pull it off, throwing it on the ground and gulping deep breaths. His mouth was raw from where the metal bit had rested, his cheeks bleeding from where the edges had cut into him.

Castiel slowly forced himself into a sitting position. His shirt was soaked in sweat, and he shivered, actually feeling more chilled now than he had when he had been stuck in the freezer. Even sitting upright made him dizzy though, and he returned to his horizontal position, stretching out on his stomach and pillowing his cheek on his folded arms.

Demon blood. He never would have thought being injected with it would be so excruciating. He'd been covered in it during battle before without any adverse effects. He didn't think even demons knew about this, and he would prefer to make sure they never did. That was not the kind of information he wanted to get out.

He was just thinking his best option was sleeping the rest of this off, when he heard footsteps coming down the hall and stopping outside of his room. Castiel groaned in resignation as the door opened and a pair of polished leather shoes walked in. Ketch was the very last person Castiel wanted to see right now and he glared up at him to make sure the Englishman knew it.

"Ah, you're awake. See, I told Lionel you would survive. Though I will say you do look absolutely awful."

Castiel grunted noncommittally. "Why are you here?" he asked.

Ketch crouched down in front of him, spotted the gag Castiel had thrown aside, and picked it up. "Hm, shame. This was a much better look on you." Before Castiel could retort, Ketch continued. "I thought you'd be happy. I came to take you to see Sam Winchester."

Castiel's ears perked up at that, but he instantly felt suspicious. "Why?"

"Because he's weak at the moment and I thought that would be a prime opportunity to promote cooperation." Ketch stood and smoothed his suit again. "I thought his favorite pet would have a better time convincing him of that than I would."

Castiel pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Sam will never cooperate, and I'm not going to force him to."

Ketch shrugged. "Then I'll make sure he understands the consequences." He pulled his sleeve up and Castiel tensed as he touched the bracelet to activate the sigils on Castiel's collar. But pain didn't rip through him this time, he simply felt the collar lock his grace down, making him even weaker than he already was. Castiel felt very heavy and ill and tired. But if Ketch was allowing him to see Sam, then maybe there was some good that could come out of this. Even if it was probably the proverbial calm before the storm. He didn't know how bad it was going to get if Sam refused to cooperate, but he would gladly take whatever punishment Ketch handed out, and he knew Sam would too, if the hunter could stick to his principles and they could continue to defy the British Men of Letters. He figured if they could hold out long enough for Dean to find them—and Dean _would_ find them—then they may just survive this.

Ketch grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Castiel wavered, dizziness overcoming him for a second, but he stubbornly kept his feet, refusing to lean on Ketch as a support.

Ketch dragged him down the hall of cells and Castiel counted the doors until they stopped. Sam was eight doors from his own cell, he would remember that in case that came in use later.

Ketch opened the door with the scanner, and once it opened, he shoved Castiel inside. "Remember, do your best to convince him. It will go better for both of you if you do."

"Right," Castiel replied sarcastically, glaring at Ketch as the Englishman closed the door behind him.

Castiel turned, hearing small pained noises, and saw Sam huddling against the wall, curled in on himself and shivering uncontrollably.

"Sam!" Castiel cried and hurried to kneel beside him. He reached out to settle a hand on Sam's shoulder, finding him burning to the touch even against his own fevered skin, and the hunter flinched and groaned again.

Castiel glanced to the other side of the cell where the cot was. It wouldn't be much of an improvement on the floor, but he figured it had to help at least a little. He shook Sam gently, trying to rouse him.

"Sam, I need you to get up," he said.

Sam's eyes flickered open and he blinked blearily up at Castiel. "C-Cas?" he asked. "S'it really you?"

Castiel managed a smile and nodded. "Yes, it's me. Can you stand?"

Sam tried to sit up, and Castiel hauled himself back to his feet before he reached down to help pull Sam to his. Neither of them were steady, so it was lucky the cot was only a few steps away. Castiel supported Sam as well as he could and then helped the young man collapse on it with a groan. The cot was really too small for him, and he curled up, pulling his knees close to his chest as he continued to shiver. Castiel wished he had a blanket to put over him and was angry that the Men of Letters hadn't provided one, or even a pillow to rest comfortably. While he was typically impervious to the chill of the cells, Sam wasn't and it must be uncomfortable for him.

Castiel crouched down on the floor beside the cot so he was at eye level with Sam. "What happened to you? Is it the demon blood?" he asked quietly.

Sam flinched, a look of guilt and self-loathing passing over his face that made Castiel want to murder every person in this facility. "You know?" he asked quietly.

"Sam, it's not your fault what these…monsters did to you," Castiel said firmly, reaching out and settling a hand on Sam's forearm, squeezing comfortingly to make sure Sam knew he didn't think any less of him for this.

"I didn't do it," Sam whispered, shaking his head slightly. "I didn't use the powers."

Castiel nodded. "I know you wouldn't, Sam." He frowned and moved his hand to Sam's forehead, looking at the bright red fever spots on his cheeks. "You're very warm."

"Angel blood," Sam whispered, wincing as he shifted in vain to find a more comfortable position.

Castiel frowned, not sure he had heard correctly. "Did you say angel blood?"

Sam nodded. "Ketch shot me up with it. Guess it reacts to the demon blood."

Castiel's breath caught in horror. Of course it would. Demon blood had done the exact same thing to him. "I know, it… has a very bad reaction."

Sam opened his eyes, glancing at Castiel. "How do you know?"

"Experience," Castiel said blandly, looking around. "Ketch must have gotten the idea after seeing what the demon blood did to me."

"Oh god, I'm sorry, Cas," Sam whispered.

Castiel squeezed his arm again. "At least I know it gets better." He stood then and went to the small sink. There was a shelf above it that held extra shirts and scrubs like in his room and he grabbed one of the t-shirts, running it under the water before taking it back to Sam and pressing it to his forehead. Sam groaned, this time in relief, and leaned into the cool fabric as Castiel used it to wipe the sweat off his face and neck.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked him then.

Castiel sighed. "Ketch thought that I should convince you to do what he wants you to. I have no intention of doing that."

Sam offered a small smile but he sobered. "What if he uses us against each other?" he asked softly.

Castiel bit his lip, continuing to cool Sam's brow. "We're both seasoned warriors, Sam. We know what the outcome will eventually be. The important part is not giving in. Not proving them right. The only thing we have here is our integrity, what makes us who we are, and they cannot take that so easily."

Sam looked up at him again, and gave a small nod. "Dean will come for us," he said.

"I know," Castiel replied, sure of it himself.

They were silent for a while, Sam letting out a moan or grunt every once in a while as he continually shifted on the cot. Castiel simply kept applying the cool cloth, trying to do whatever he could between Sam's bouts of sweating and shivering.

"I'm afraid," Sam eventually whispered out of the blue, surprising Castiel who thought he might have drifted off.

"Why?" Castiel asked, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid too.

Sam's eyes opened and Castiel saw such pain in them that it made his heart ache. "I'm afraid of losing myself again. I—I can't do that. I can't let that happen."

Castiel reached out to grip his shoulder. "You won't, Sam. You overcame the demon blood before, and you're stronger now. It will not defeat you. I'm sure of it."

Sam let out a shuddering breath. "What if I can't stop it, though? I know what it's like. At first it's not so hard to fight it, but the more you drink the more it consumes you. What if my need for killing demons outweighs my wish to stay who I am?"

Castiel could understand how he felt—on a personal level. He'd gone through the same thing when he had taken on the souls. He had felt how they were corrupting him, and yet he was powerless to stop them, laboring under the delusion that losing himself was a fair price to pay for saving the world. However, in just one of his many ill-advised decisions, he had ended up doing far more harm than good.

And then they had both watched Dean's fight with the Mark of Cain. The things he had been terrified would happen, had nearly become a reality. Castiel didn't think he would ever forget the cold indifference in Dean's eyes as he beat him in the bunker's library, left him lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. He knew the real Dean would never do that, but the Mark's influence had forced him to it all the same.

But Sam…Sam was stronger than him, stronger than Dean. Castiel and the elder Winchester both knew this. Sam had a quiet determination that neither of them did. Maybe once it was to prove himself, but now it just seemed like an ingrained part of his character. A promise to himself that he would never be used for someone else's purpose again.

Castiel set aside the wet cloth for a moment, and squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Sam, you fought Lucifer and won. You have survived more than I could ever imagine a human pulling through. I don't think you have to worry about this consuming you."

Sam sighed, not really looking convinced, but he also looked a little grateful. Though perhaps he was just exhausted. "Thanks, Cas," he whispered. "I hope I don't let you down."

"You never have before," Castiel said sincerely.

"You know that's not true," Sam replied regretfully.

Castiel shrugged. "Well, I could say the same on my end." He got up to re-wet the cloth and came back to settle it on Sam's brow again. "You should try to rest. It will be easier if you sleep it off."

Sam heaved a shuddering breath, but didn't argue. His eyes were already closed again and he curled up tighter. Eventually, his breathing evened out a little and he drifted off into a restless slumber.

Castiel stayed sitting beside the cot, cooling Sam's brow as he watched over the young man, one of his dearest friends in the world. He vowed then that no matter what happened he would not let Sam lose himself. Because he feared that if Sam Winchester lost himself, then he would have no choice but to follow.

* * *

 _Sam woke groggily, his body ached_ like he'd been thrown down a cliff, but at the same time…his head felt very clear. In fact, his whole system felt like it had been purged. Something was definitely missing, something he hadn't wanted there to begin with.

He cracked his eyes open, shifting on the uncomfortable surface he was lying on with a groan, bringing a hand to his face to rub his eyes. Something damp fell from his forehead.

"Sam?"

He startled and glanced to one side, seeing Cas crouching beside the cot in his cell, eyes concerned, even with the dark rings around them.

"Cas?" Sam asked, and then remembered that the angel had been brought here by Ketch. He was glad to see that his friend was still here and hadn't been carted off again while he slept.

"How are you feeling?" Cas asked anxiously.

Sam took stock of himself then, and carefully pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. His back and neck protested from the uncomfortable position but besides that and the residual ache from the fever, he felt…good. "Well…okay, I guess."

Cas nodded thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes at him. Sam felt slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "W-what's wrong?" he asked.

Cas shook his head. "Nothing, I was just…Sam, do you feel the demon blood anymore?" he asked.

Sam realized with a start that that was exactly what was missing. He didn't feel the forced adrenaline rush that the blood gave him, he just felt…normal.

"Actually, no," he said slowly. "What does that mean?"

Cas looked a bit awed. "I think it means that the angel blood cleaned your system. I can't detect any of it in you."

Sam looked down at himself as if he could tell the difference. "Huh," was all he found to say.

"Well, if nothing else, Ketch may have actually found out something useful," Cas replied wryly.

Sam snorted, pushing some of his greasy hair out of his face and wishing for a shower. He really looked at his friend for the first time since Cas had gotten in here. Before, he'd been too out of it to really notice, but Cas looked pretty rough. He remembered him saying he'd been given demon blood, which must have had about the same effect as the angel blood had on Sam. Then he narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of the glint of silver at Cas' throat. Was that…a freaking collar? How had he missed that before?

"Cas, what the hell is that around your neck?" he asked, angry on the angel's behalf.

Cas sighed and subconsciously tugged at the collar. Sam noticed furiously that it hardly had any give to it and had to be uncomfortable. "Oh, this. A gift from Ketch."

"What does it do?" Sam asked almost afraid to find out.

"All kinds of things," Cas replied vaguely. "Mostly it keeps my grace bound. It's apparently easier than putting me in handcuffs whenever the guards have to take me from my cell."

Sam swallowed hard, shaking his head. "All of this is…what they're doing here…it's not what we do as hunters. I mean, we get rid of the bad things, but we do it to save people. This—this…grabbing anything vaguely supernatural and using it as a weapon or throwing it in a lab for testing…It's disgusting."

Cas nodded. "Yes, but that doesn't mean it's going to stop them either. I think we've determined that they are not to be reasoned with."

"Are you okay, though?" Sam asked him after a moment, looking Cas over even though he couldn't see any other visible injuries. "Have they…done anything to you?"

Cas sighed tiredly. "Oh, well, Lionel, the head scientist, has conducted many experiments. He's very happy to finally have an angelic 'specimen' to test his theories on. But so far it's nothing that really bears mentioning. Just general discomfort."

Sam's anger flared anew, his stomach lurching at the bitter tone in Cas' voice at the word 'specimen'. "God, Cas, I'm sorry."

Cas shrugged helplessly. "This is my fault for not saying no to the British to begin with. I'm just sorry I had to drag you into this with me."

Sam shook his head. "You didn't have a choice. We've all been there. It's not your fault the Brits are such assholes."

Cas didn't look exactly convinced, but Sam didn't get a chance to say anything more because the door was unlocked and Ketch strode in with several guards, all of them cramming into the room.

"Ah good, you're awake," Ketch said to Sam as Cas got to his feet, putting himself firmly between Ketch and the younger Winchester. Ketch ignored him, keeping his attention on the hunter. "Decided to cooperate yet?"

"What do you think?" Sam replied blandly. "In fact, I think I'm considering it even less now than I was before."

Ketch pretended a look of disappointment as he cast a glance at Cas. "Shame. I was hoping your attack dog could be more useful in convincing you. I guess I'll bring it back to Lionel now."

Sam got to his feet, fighting back a wave of dizziness as he stood at Cas' shoulder. "You leave Cas alone," he snarled.

"Sam, don't," Cas said quietly.

Ketch smirked unpleasantly. "You have little to no say in the matter. The angel is a non-negotiable piece in this game, the official property of the Men of Letters."

"You bastard," Sam snarled and stepped forward.

Of course one of the guards had a cattle prod in his side before he could reach Ketch and he collapsed with a cry, his already sore body hitting the ground hard.

"Sam!"

Sam heard Cas' shout, which suddenly broke off with a scream. Sam lurched up, seeing Cas on his knees, tearing at the collar at his throat, his face a mask of agony. The collar was glowing with sigils that were obviously the cause of his pain.

"Cas!" Sam cried, but two guards were already dragging him to his feet. He watched Ketch touch something on his wrist—a silver bracelet with glowing runes that matched Cas' collar. Cas suddenly slumped to the ground, breathing heavily. Ketch kicked him dismissively in the side.

"Take the halo to Lionel."

Sam watched helplessly as the two other guards came in and dragged a barely conscious Cas away. Ketch watched them go before turning back to Sam and backhanding him across the face. Sam cried out, and tasted blood in his mouth where his teeth had cut into his cheek.

"Eventually, you will learn. I can see my idea was fruitless, so that will probably be the last time you'll see your little pet for a while now," Ketch said with some satisfaction. "Now, we're going to try what we did yesterday again, but I want you to do it properly this time."

Sam actually smirked. "Good luck."

Ketch glowered dangerously at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that the angel blood had some surprising side-effects," Sam said, the incredulous, infuriated, look on Ketch's face the best thing he'd seen in a long time. "I'm clean. I couldn't exorcise a demon that way even if I wanted to."

Ketch's lip curled. He looked like he wanted to hit Sam again, but he simply pressed his lips together, showing some stiff upper lip instead, and jerked his head toward the door. "Bring him," he said to the guards. "We'll see if this is true or not."

Sam was dragged to the laboratory and straight to the room with the ethereal imaging system. Dr. Herriot met with Ketch, a pinched expression on her face as he explained what had happened. Sam almost smirked as he saw the obvious disapproval in her eyes.

He was even happier to see the scan came up negative for any demonic signature in his body. The angel blood had actually _worked_. It hadn't been fun, but it had cleaned him up and he wasn't feeling the effects of withdrawal either.

"Dammit," Dr. Herriot snapped. "Now we're going to have to start this all over again."

"Calm down, this is a regrettable development, I know, but an interesting one all the same," Ketch said.

"Now all my reports will be behind," Herriot said. "Dr. Hess will not be pleased."

"That woman is never pleased," Ketch replied drolly. "Standing around arguing isn't going to fix anything anyway, and I have something to help Lionel with later, so we should hurry this up. Just give him a double dose, and we can be back on the training schedule tomorrow."

Dr. Herriot still shot Ketch a look of annoyance but she went to grab the demon blood. Ketch strode over to the table Sam was strapped onto and leaned over him ominously.

"No more games, Sam. The stakes are getting higher. Just remember, the more you fight this, the harder it will be. For you and those you might care for."

Sam didn't like the implications, or the comment Ketch had made previously about helping Lionel with something. He was worried about what they might do to Cas to get Sam to cooperate if he pushed them too far. But at the same time…the worst thing he could do was lose himself. That would let Cas down and hurt his friend worse in the long run than any torture could. Even though Sam didn't want to be responsible for any pain these bastards inflicted on Cas, any alternative would be so much worse for both of them. No, they had promised each other to keep fighting and that is what they'd do. And when Dean got here, they would all make sure the Men of Letters remembered exactly who they were dealing with.

So they could shove demon blood down his throat all they wanted. It didn't mean he had to cooperate.

* * *

 _Castiel felt foreboding run through him_ as he was dragged into the laboratory and to a different part of the main lab room this time. Instead of being put on the usual metal table, he was shoved toward an apparatus set up against one side of the room, looking like some kind of upright rack. The guards shoved him against it face first, and swiftly locked his wrists and ankles into the manacles provided, leaving him in an uncomfortable spread-eagled position. Castiel shifted experimentally but the manacles held firm. He felt too vulnerable like this, especially since he wouldn't be able to see what they were doing this time. This position reminded him too much of the flogging sessions Zachariah would sometimes instill back in heaven when Castiel had been disobedient and he didn't have time for a 'proper' reeducation.

Castiel had to wait for a few minutes before Lionel and his assistants got there. He tried to crane his neck around so he could see them, see what they were shuffling around on the table. Brady eventually came over and Castiel flinched as he saw something glint out of the corner of his eye, but the scientist just had a pair of scissors to cut his shirt away. Castiel swallowed back his growing anxiety. This still felt all too reminiscent of a torture session to him.

More footsteps approached and Castiel heard Lionel's slightly annoyed sigh. "There you are. I can't wait all day, you know."

"I was only five minutes late, I had to see to other business." Castiel's skin crawled at Ketch's voice. He turned to look over his shoulder as far as he could and glowered at the man.

"Oh, by the way," Ketch added. "You left its gag in and it tore it out back in its cell. I thought you might want this back. I'll do the honors, if you want."

Ketch strode over to Castiel and gripped a handful of his hair, pulling his head back. There was a satisfied, almost excited look on his face that Castiel didn't like at all.

"Today, halo, is where I truly start to break you," Ketch told him in a low voice so the others couldn't hear him. "By the way, Sam just received a new dose of demon blood. Thought you might like to know that."

Castiel started back at him defiantly. "It won't change anything. I already told you that, and I'm sure he did too."

Ketch smiled. "I guess we'll just have to see who's right then. Because I just want you to understand that this is only the beginning." He jabbed at Castiel's throat then, and as the angel's mouth was opening in a gasp, Ketch forced the gag in between his teeth. Castiel nearly choked on it, and Ketch cinched it viciously tight, the straps cutting into his cheeks.

Castiel didn't let on about his discomfort though, he simply returned Ketch's smug smile with a glare of hatred, and then Ketch disappeared to talk with Lionel.

"Are you sure these sigils will work?" he asked.

"I had the best Enochian scholars work them up for me from old translations," Lionel said defensively. "There have been successful trials in the past apparently, but we haven't personally been able to test them yet."

"Looking at them with my moderate knowledge of Enochian," Harker piped up, "It's partly a spell of revelation or manifestation, and partly a binding magic. So in theory, it should work exactly as we want it too."

Castiel frowned. Manifestation and binding sigils? What on earth could they be planning?

The four men moved over toward him, Ketch standing off to one side to observe. Brady annoyingly started taking more pictures and Castiel fantasized about one day grabbing his camera and smashing it over his head. But obviously today wasn't the day since he was bound so tightly and Ketch still had his grace powered down.

"These sigils need to be cut into the subject directly," Harker said.

"Harker, you may do the honors," Lionel said. "You're the closest we have to an Enochian scholar here."

Harker seemed flattered and thrilled. Castiel didn't like the idea that the sigils needed to be cut into him. Binding magic that dealt with blood was always strong and rarely a good thing.

"Binding magic always has to be performed with something of the subject's," Harker explained. "With this, we'll be cutting right into the flesh so that will work perfectly."

Castiel heard the light clink of metal on metal, and then flinched as he felt something cut into the spot between his shoulder blades.

"We need to restrain the specimen better, it'll ruin this if it moves too much," Harker complained.

"Allow me," Ketch offered and strode over to Castiel. He cranked several levers on the rack and it extended so that any slack Castiel might have had before was gone and his limbs were stretched as far as they could go, joints straining. He shifted slightly, but was unable to move more than an inch.

"That's better," Harker said and resumed his carving.

Castiel grunted past his gag, feeling the blade curve and shape whatever sigils were being permanently etched into his body. Brady stood by taking more pictures and Ketch leaned close to better see.

"So what is the exact translation of these sigils?" Ketch inquired, and Castiel could hear the fake interest in his voice. He knew Ketch was asking for his benefit, to make sure Castiel knew what was happening to him.

"Well, the set I just completed was the manifestation portion," Harker told him. "This section I'm working on now is for the binding. It's pretty typical up to that point which is why we have to finish it with the sigil for what we specifically want manifested. In this case, an angel's wings."

Castiel felt something clench around his heart as fear overcame him at those words. He had feared this, yes, somewhere in the back of his mind where he tried to shove all his fears, but he didn't think it was really possible. Humans couldn't really force an angel's wings to manifest—of course the Men of Letters knew more than they should about a lot of things. He'd found that out too.

"Fascinating," Ketch said.

Castiel started to feel a strange tugging at his true form. He tried to hold on, lock himself inside his vessel, but without full access to his grace he was pretty much powerless to do so. Something was fracturing between his true form and his vessel; the sigils were working. He struggled as much as he could, groaning past the gag in protest, but it was too late. Harker was just finishing the last sigil.

Castiel knew the instant he did, because a surge of electric energy snapped through his body, tearing, pulling in ways that should not be possible. He started screaming before he realized he was doing so. He made one last effort to lock his wings inside his body but felt them slip away all the same, and with one last wrenching wave of agony, it was too late.

His wings burst into the physical plane with a crackle of grace. Black feathers filled his peripheral vision, and all he could feel were four pairs of eyes staring at him with shock and awe.

He had no idea how he was going to get out of this one.


	7. Feather

**Fair warning-you're all gonna hate me for this chapter… :P**

Chapter Seven

Feather

"Oh my."

Ketch was the one to speak first and as soon as Castiel had his senses back, he pulled his wings tightly against his body, attempting to make them as small as possible. It was difficult though as, even resting, they were nearly as long as he was tall.

He didn't want anyone looking at them, and especially not touching them, but he wasn't prepared for Ketch's next comment. "These look horrific."

Some indignation filled his chest at that. Yes, of course they didn't look as good as they should. He was battle-scarred. He'd first gone to Hell to rescue Dean, then Sam, and still had singed feathers from both trips, as well as the fact that his grace wasn't even whole, so how on earth could his wings be? Of course he was not about to volunteer that information. They didn't need to know any more about angels than they already did. And it wasn't like they were going to ask him politely anyway. They obviously didn't care about what he had to say since he was always gagged.

Surprisingly, it was Lionel who stood up for the state of Castiel's wings, even though Castiel was not at all grateful to him for it.

"It doesn't matter what they look like, do you not see what we have here?" Lionel was practically vibrating with excitement and Castiel flinched and grunted in protest as one of the man's hands settled at the top of one wing, prodding at the softer, yet slightly ragged covert feathers there. Some of his primaries and flight feathers were crooked, and it hurt whenever Lionel touched them, especially nearer the bones, but he tried to hide his pain. More pictures were snapped and Castiel felt even more rage toward Brady and his camera.

"Well, I never would have expected an angel's wings to look so ratty," Ketch said, reaching out to touch Castiel's right wing.

Without thinking, Castiel simply struck out with his newly liberated appendage, hitting Ketch square in the chest with incredible force. The Englishman actually tumbled onto his backside, looking stunned for a moment. Castiel gave him a satisfied look.

Even Lionel seemed to be amused since he didn't bother helping Ketch up. "Perhaps we should figure out a way to restrain the specimen's wings before we go any farther."

Castiel got a slight reprieve as they went to find something that would work, and he was amused to see that Ketch had retreated off to one side, too far for him to reach. He hoped he'd bruised a few ribs.

He wasn't as happy a few minutes later as they began to bring bars over that they could extend past the sides of the rack, obviously to make it easier for them to view his wings. He didn't make it easy for them. They wanted to stretch his wings open, and he wasn't having that. Of course, Ketch eventually used the collar's shock option on him and while he was paralyzed with the pain, they maneuvered his wings into position and strapped them to the bars. It was extremely uncomfortable, and his wings twitched, wanting to be free, especially after being bound to the ethereal plane for so long. The straps also dug into his crooked feathers and the painful patches where feathers had already been ripped out and he bit down hard on the gag to keep himself from making noise.

Brady took more pictures, and now that Castiel was bound, Ketch finally approached him again and touched his wing near the shoulder before moving down and burying his fingers in the feathers, pulling on them unnecessarily hard. Castiel flinched, but tried not to show how bad it hurt or how much it disgusted him to have Ketch's hands on his wings; but staying stoic and uncaring was hard. It was like someone pulling your hair, but since feathers had hard quills as opposed to flexible follicles it hurt ten times worse.

"Hm," Ketch mused as he mussed his fingers through the feathers, disregarding their natural flow and causing several to stick up uncomfortably. "These are a different color than the ones I've used in spells before."

"It's theorized that angel wings, in their corporeal form are as varied as hair color in humans," Lionel said.

"These are rather beautiful," Harker commented. That didn't earn him any respect from Castiel, though. "It's almost a shame to waste them on spells."

"But we have great need of them," Lionel reminded his assistant. "However, until that time, we plan on finding out as much as we can about the angelic anatomy."

"Perhaps we should throw it off a cliff and watch it fly?" Ketch suggested, flicking a glance toward Castiel. The angel simply narrowed his eyes at him. Let them try.

"With the condition of these wings, I don't think flight is an option for this particular specimen," Lionel said shortly. "But I would like to see how they react in a wind tunnel all the same."

Well, at least that sounded like one of the least horrible things they'd done to Castiel up to this point.

"Let's get it into the ethereal imaging room again," Lionel said. "I'm interested to see the flow of grace through the wings now that they're corporeal. And we'll do a few x-rays as well. I want to see how they correlate to the vessel, if the anatomy is changed at all with the wings being corporeal, or if they're still technically metaphysical."

Castiel sighed wearily into his gag. It looked like he was going to have to endure more poking and prodding. He supposed he should be grateful they weren't doing worse even though it was terribly humiliating, dehumanizing, and he hated it almost more then pain. But from the looks Ketch continuously shot him, he had a feeling it was going to get so much worse before long, so he should probably revel in these moments where they weren't cutting him apart into little bits.

He had the sinking feeling that was probably all he had to look forward to eventually.

* * *

 _Dean was about ready to lose his mind_. He slammed the laptop closed and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes with a groan.

"Nothing?" Mom asked sympathetically.

"I don't know," Dean said helplessly. He grabbed his coffee and took a gulp, wincing as he realized it was long cold. He glanced at his watch, seeing he had been working fruitlessly for three hours. "I mean, there's a ton of property that was bought in the last couple months in the state of Kansas. Like, you would think it's the realty capitol of the world right now or something. But weeding through to find the right parameters of what I would assume the Brits would be looking for is…yeah I don't know."

He stood and stretched his back with a pop. His ankle still twinged slightly but thankfully it was getting better. It wasn't like he hadn't had plenty of time to rest it with all this research.

Mom looked up from Sam's laptop that she was borrowing. "I can't find anything either, but then, I'm not even entirely sure I'm looking in the right place."

"Sam is the one who's good at all this computer stuff," Dean told her with a sigh. "I'm gonna try calling around to some of the realtors who sold the properties that look most promising. That's our only lead right now unless someone comes back with something." They hadn't heard back yet from any of the other hunters they had called. Even Jody hadn't been able to find anything though she had said she would contact fellow law enforcement in surrounding areas.

"And what if they didn't go through the normal channels?" Mom asked, voicing the fears Dean had been harboring the whole time.

"Then we'll try something else," Dean told her. "I swear, if I have to scour this entire state, this entire _country_ , to find them, I will."

His phone rang then, and he quickly snatched it off the table, hoping it was Jody or someone else with good news.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Squirrel, glad I caught you," came a familiar voice over the line.

Dean rolled his eyes with a groan. "Crowley. Well, it just so happens I don't have the time for you right now."

"Now, Dean, is that any way to talk to someone who saved your life twice within the last couple months?" the demon chided sarcastically.

"What do you want?" he grunted.

"I want to know who has been kidnapping my demons!" Crowley growled. "And not all Lucifer loyalists either. Good operatives, top salesmen! Ones I can't afford to lose right now with Hell in the filthy turmoil that it is."

"Three words for you, Crowley—I don't care," Dean snapped. "Now unless you have anything important…"

"It's not you then?" Crowley asked.

"No, Crowley, why the hell would I care about your demons? Unless they're making themselves known, I couldn't care less about them right now!"

"I'm sensing angst, more so than usual," Crowley said. "What's eating you, Dean?"

"You know where the Brits are holed up?" Dean demanded.

"Where we left them after our last reunion, as far as I know," Crowley replied. "Why?"

Dean paused, clenching his jaw. There really was no point in not telling Crowley; in fact the demon might help. That seemed to be happening more often than not these days, as crazy at it sounded. It was just that Dean still hated admitting that he needed help from the demon at all.

"They took Sam and Cas, and they're not where they were," he said.

"Ah, of course, baby brother and feathers are in trouble. Now I understand why you sound so constipated." Dean glared, even though Crowley couldn't see him as the demon continued. "That actually makes sense. I bet that glorified gentleman's club is responsible for my demons going missing too."

"Well, good, you have a bone to pick with them, join the club. Why don't you help me figure out where they're hiding?"

Crowley hummed as if considering it. "I suppose I could spare a little time. I have a few people I could ask. As much as I hate to say it, Mother may even be able to track them down."

"Well, however you choose to do it, I don't care, just find them."

Crowley tsked. "Now, Dean, that's no way to ask politely."

"Bye, Crowley," Dean grunted and hung up.

Mom looked up from the computer at him. "Is he going to help?"

"Hell if I know," Den grunted and grabbed his coffee cup to go refill it in the kitchen. "I'm gonna track down the best places I found on my list and we can hit the road, check them out in person. There's no guarantee that Crowley will find anything."

Mom nodded and closed the laptop. "I'll pack up the car."

* * *

 _Castiel suffered through multiple x-rays_ and sessions with the ethereal scanner as Lionel and his assistants, plus Ketch, marveled over the signatures his wings gave off. Then there was the continuous touching as they shifted his wings in every possible direction and angle to see how they worked, Brady snapping pictures with every turn. Castiel's wings and feathers were measured and catalogued and poked and pulled at until he was ready to scream. And they had no regard whatsoever for the thought that he'd been lying face down on that cold, hard table for the better part of three hours.

Finally, Lionel seemed to have collected enough data for one day's research and wanted to go write up his findings or whatever it was he did with the information he had gathered from the experiments and examinations Castiel had been forced to suffer through.

"Call the guards to take the specimen back to the cell for the day."

"I'll take it, I'm going that way anyway," Ketch offered as Brady started to unlock the manacles from Castiel's wrists and ankles.

Lionel gave him a look, but Ketch was already hauling Castiel upright, grabbing the back of his collar so that it pressed painfully into Castiel's windpipe. "Don't worry, your precious specimen will be in one piece tomorrow," Ketch said with a roll of his eyes.

Lionel grunted, but went back to work, speaking with Harker at the computers.

Ketch dragged Castiel from the lab and back to the cellblock. Castiel thought about how easy it would be to simply take Ketch down right now. Slam his wing into the man's jaw, kick him in the center of his chest, maybe even the throat so he couldn't breathe…but he knew any move he made wouldn't last long, not with the collar around his throat. And he was afraid that if he pulled anything like that, Sam would be the one to suffer. They had agreed to keep fighting but they didn't have to be stupid either. And provoking Ketch was definitely stupid.

When they got to Castiel's cell, Ketch opened it and pushed him inside. Castiel instantly went on the alert when Ketch followed him in. He quickly reached up to pull the gag from his mouth, which they had failed to remove again.

"What do you want?" he demanded sharply.

"That tone is not going to do you any favors. What I want is for you to understand your position here," Ketch said and touched his wrist.

Castiel was on his knees as agony tore through him. It ripped through his wings too, making them tremble spasmodically. Ketch was right in front of him with a fistful of his hair before he could get his senses back.

"You, angel, you and Sam Winchester, you belong to us now, do you understand? You are the _property_ of the British Men of Letters," he hissed and sent another shock wave through Castiel.

"I am no one's property," Castiel snarled up at him through clenched teeth. "I fought, and I've died, for free will. I'm not giving it up now. Especially not to _you_."

Ketch sneered and slammed Castiel's face onto the floor. That horrible metallic smell of blood burst in the back of his nostrils as he collided and he struggled as Ketch kept one hand pressed to his head while he shoved a knee into his lower back.

Castiel's wings jerked instinctively, trying to batter him, but Ketch had gotten into a position where Castiel's couldn't reach him well enough to do any damage. Ketch chuckled low in his throat.

"You pathetic little pigeon. It's no wonder the other angels kicked you out. Look at you. Look at the state of these wings." Ketch's free hand dug into Castiel's right wing, fingers scraping over a raw spot near his joint. Castiel growled and tried to buck Ketch off, but the man held firm, manhandling his wing down on the ground. "I'd clip your wings too. Maybe before this is all over, I'll do it anyway. Just for the fun of it."

Castiel cried out at the sudden sickening agony that ripped down his right wing and into his back. For a moment he thought Ketch was making good on his promise already, but then the Englishman wrenched his head back and held up a large black feather. It was one of his primaries—a good one too, not one that had been half torn out already. There was still blood dripping from the quill. Anger pulsed in his chest as he felt his grace surge against the hold of the collar in a failed attempt to heal the wing.

"You may have the Winchesters laboring under the delusion that you're human, or at least put up a good front of being one," Ketch told him. "But I wonder what they would think if they saw the freak with wings that was once their favorite pet? Do you think they'd be so accepting seeing you like this? You can't go out in public and pretend to be human now, you can't even wear that ridiculous trench coat. You'd just be one of the monsters they kill on a daily basis. Better for you to be locked up in a glorified birdcage."

"You don't know them," Castiel gritted out, trying not to let the Englishman's words get to him. "They are my family."

"Oh, please," Ketch scoffed. "You're just a pet. You think they really feel the same way about you as they do each other? A brother? Is that what you think you are to them? That's genuinely pathetic." He finally stood up and stepped onto Castiel's primary feathers, effectively pinning his wing. Castiel stayed as still as possible, trying not to even breathe so he wouldn't pull his wing against the pressure of Ketch's foot.

"Well," he said, steeling his eyes as he gazed up at the Brit over his shoulder. "I wouldn't expect a psychopath like you to understand family anyway."

Ketch looked like he might retort, but then simply shrugged as if agreeing grudgingly. Then he finally took his foot off of Castiel's wing and kicked him in the ribs before he headed toward the door, the feather he had plucked still in his hand.

Castiel slowly pulled himself to his hands and knees and then his feet. It was slightly difficult maneuvering with his wings being corporeal. He was suddenly glad there wasn't anything to knock down in the cell.

Ketch's words had hurt, and once upon a time, he might have even believed them. But after recent events, Castiel knew where he stood with Sam and Dean, and that was shoulder to shoulder. They _were_ his brothers, and Ketch or any other human or angel or demon couldn't convince him differently.

But it _was_ true what he said as well. He couldn't play human with his wings like this. He didn't really think this was permanent but…what if it was? What _would_ the Winchesters think if he was stuck with his wings on the physical plane for the rest of existence? He certainly couldn't go on hunts, or go out in public, or really help them at all unless there were no people around. And having his wings physical would make him all the more vulnerable to attack.

He swallowed hard, gut clenching with the thought. He would be useless to them, no longer able to protect their backs in a fight or aid them on hunts. He would be confined to the bunker like…like the pet Ketch insisted he was.

Castiel shook that off. It didn't matter here, now. They would find a way to fix this too, or if not, to make it work. They always did.

Still irked with Ketch's comment about playing human, he glanced over at the stack of clean shirts and pants on the shelf above the sink. An idea popped into his head and he grabbed a shirt and carefully tore two long slits in the back, then gingerly pulled it over his head and wings. It was a bit harder to get the feathered appendages through the slits than he had anticipated, his wings being slightly awkward and unwieldy in their current form, but it was worth it. He actually smiled as he smoothed the t-shirt down over his torso. He thought Sam and Dean would find his clothing modifications amusing, and couldn't wait to see what Ketch and the scientists thought about it. Yes, he was innovative in a human way. He certainly wasn't going to let them dehumanize him, and wearing clothing was a good way to keep that from happening. Besides, he was actually rather proud of himself for the ingenuity.

He lay on his cot and positioned his wings as comfortably as possible, wrapping one over himself like he had done as a fledgling. It was actually rather comforting, and for the first time since they had manifested his wings, he thought he might actually be able to get through this.

* * *

 _Sam shivered on his cot again._ The demon blood by itself was not as bad as the demon-angel blood combo he'd been suffering from the night before, but it still gave him alternating chills and heat waves.

Dr. Herriot had given him a double dose of blood that morning via the tube and funnel system again which was just as unpleasant this time as it was last time, but there was no way he was going to give in and actually drink the stuff at their request. And then Ketch had decided he needed another dose later to get back on schedule, and so they'd forced more into Sam despite his protests.

He'd warned Ketch—the demon blood from that morning had already made him slightly nauseas, and he just couldn't keep the next dose down and had promptly vomited it on Ketch's Italian leather shoes…more or less on accident.

Needless to say, Ketch hadn't been pleased with that.

Sam felt a little better now, had tried to sleep off the worst of the effects, and pretty much he just felt the surge of the blood through his veins again. He didn't like it, it made him restless and jumpy, but throwing up on Ketch's shoes had been worth it, really. It helped him get through the day.

Then the door opened and Ketch strode in with a tray. Sam groaned, hoping it wasn't more demon blood, but then he caught the vague scent of the tasteless, nameless mash they served him every meal and realized Ketch had apparently taken it upon himself to serve Sam his dinner that day. Kind of weird. Sam was instantly on alert.

"Eat up," Ketch said as Sam sat up with a groan, and the Brit placed the tray on the cot beside him. "Oh, and, I thought you may like a souvenir of your precious pet before it's too late."

Sam looked down with a frown at the tray and saw a giant black feather. There was still some wet blood on the tip, spattered onto the tray. He swallowed hard. Even if he had been hungry before, he certainly wasn't now.

"What did you do?" he demanded, fear crawling up his throat as he stood on shaky legs to crowd into Ketch.

Ketch offered that infuriating smirk. "Nothing to worry about yet. Let's just say that your halo is a bit more—feathered than before."

Sam didn't know what to reply to that. Did he mean that Cas' wings were…what…corporeal? But how that that possible? A spell maybe? In any case the implications behind that were not good. Especially not with the way Ketch was smirking.

"You son of a bitch, if you even think of touching him…"

"Too late for that," Ketch said with a shrug. "Obviously. Really, all these empty threats are getting tiresome—"

Sam punched him in the face. Ketch's head snapped around and he staggered back several steps, hand going to a split cheekbone. He cringed and spat some blood on the floor.

"I don't make empty threats," Sam said in a dangerous voice.

"Well, at least that's something," Ketch said then turned around to leave the room.

Sam paced several steps as Ketch closed the door, and ran his hands through his hair, the blood making him extra nervous. Eventually he sat back on the cot and glanced at the tray. He hesitated only a second before he reached out to pick the feather up carefully. It was huge, as long as his forearm from elbow to fingertip, and it was beautiful. The soft, yet strong barbs were jet black, so black that there were iridescent shots of green and pink running through it that he could see when he tilted the feather from side to side. The quill itself was strong, amazingly so, actually. Sam's brow furrowed as a thought occurred to him. Maybe he could use Cas' feather for something good, since Ketch had torn it out anyway. Sam carefully tucked it into the waistband of his pants against his thigh, away from detection. He thought the feather may just be able to come in handy.


	8. Push

Chapter Eight

Push

Sam woke to the now familiar sound of the door opening, followed by the guard's feet as they clomped in to drag him from the cot. He grunted in annoyance as they hustled him from the cell and down the hall where Ketch was waiting by the door to another room.

"Sam," the Brit smiled pleasantly, though there was no missing the coldness in his eyes. "Sleep well?"

Sam didn't even bother replying, just gave Ketch his best bitchface. The Brit rolled his eyes slightly and turned to open the cell he was standing in front of.

"Well, let's give this demon thing another go now that you're back to strength, shall we?"

He pushed the door in and Sam was shoved inside after him by the guards who stood there on either side of him—as if he had anywhere to run.

Like the last time, the cell held a demon caught in the middle of a devil's trap and sitting cross-legged. She smirked and cocked a brow as she saw Sam, getting to her feet.

"Aw, how sweet of you to visit me, Winchester," she said. "I'm touched, really."

"Shut up, demonic filth," Ketch snapped at her.

She cast him a glib look before turning back to Sam. "And I though the Brits were supposed to be the polite ones."

"You know what to do, Sam," Ketch said. "Exorcise it, kill it, whatever you wish. I just want results."

Sam glowered at him. "No."

"We've been through this, Sam," Ketch told him in a low voice, danger glinting in his eyes. "You know there will be consequences if you refuse."

"Uh-oh," the demon widened her eyes, putting a mocking hand over her mouth. "Is little Sammy gonna get a spanking?"

Ketch backhanded her across the face. "Do it now, Sam," he growled.

"I said no," Sam said.

"Ooh, what's the matter, Winchester? Can't get it up?" the demon stage-whispered.

"You have no reason to refuse," Ketch tried to reason.

"I have _every_ reason," Sam snapped, drawing himself up. "I learned a long time ago that nothing is worth losing your humanity over. Especially not when I'm being used as some tool for the British Society of Douchebags." Okay, not as eloquent as he would have liked, but he was so far past pissed off at Ketch and the Men of Letters.

"Alright, fair enough; I can see this isn't going to sway you. I suppose I'll just have to move on to playing dirty," Ketch said and nodded to the guards who grabbed Sam's arms again and started maneuvering him out the door.

"Call me, baby," the demon called after him before the door slammed shut.

They took Sam to the lab again and to the ethereal imaging room. Dr. Herriot met them there and was readying a chair with restraints in the center of the room instead of the table that was usually there. Sam was shoved into it, and the guards made swift work of fastening the restraints across his body. Sam thought briefly of Cas' feather he still had tucked safely against his leg, but obviously had no way to reach it, especially with the metal cuffs they had added around his wrists and ankles.

"You may refuse to do what we ask now, Sam," Ketch said as he watched Dr. Herriot preparing something on a tray near the wall. "But the more blood that we introduce to your system, the harder it will be to resist the urge to use your powers."

Sam smiled patronizingly at him. "I went toe-to-toe with Lucifer and _won_. I think I can handle a little demon blood high."

Dr. Herriot turned around, a huge syringe in her hand. "Perhaps a direct injection would work better."

Sam blinked at it as the doctor approached him. "How do you know that won't kill me?"

"Oh, we don't know for sure," Ketch said, a small smirk on his lips. "But it's in your bloodstream anyway, the only risk to you with this is overdose."

Sam swallowed hard, Famine's voice whispering in the back of his mind from long ago— _You will never die from drinking too much_. He wondered if that was still true. He didn't particularly care for the scenario either way.

Dr. Herriot bent over one of his bound arms, and forced the large needle into his vein. Sam gritted his teeth at the pain, first of the puncture, and then of the hot sting of the demon blood entering his bloodstream. Thankfully, it didn't have the same effect as the angel blood had, but his heart was pounding faster by the second, his breaths came in pants, and he was shuddering like a junkie. He had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering together.

"Well, it looks like it's doing something," Ketch said, cocking his head to one side as he studied Sam. "Turn the scanner on."

Dr. Herriot was already doing so, and soon images flashed onto the screen of Sam's figure, with a hell of a lot more red in it than last time pumping through his entire body. The image made him more nauseous than he already was, but if he threw up now, it would be in his own lap and not on Ketch's shoes, and he didn't really want to do that.

Ketch went over to the door and called to the guards. "Bring us a demon."

A few minutes later, the guards came back, hauling a different demon than the female Sam had seen earlier into the room. This one was a stoic silent type, sneering at Sam as he stood between the guards, sigiled cuffs around his wrists and ankles, connected by a chain—the sort of restraints they used for dangerous prisoners.

"You know what to do, Sam," Ketch told him, standing off to one side, hands clasped in front of him. "Be a good boy and use your special powers."

Sam gritted his teeth, still trying to calm his breathing. Truth was, he could feel the demon from where he sat, and the demon blood in him was rising up to meet the challenge, causing him to recall everything he had learned from Ruby all those years ago. But he still had control over it.

"No," he gritted out eventually. "I'm not doing it."

"You're not leaving that chair until you exorcise this demon," Ketch told him firmly.

"Then I guess I'll be here a while," Sam snarked.

Ketch was in his face, leaning over the chair. Sam drew back as far as he could so the Brit's breath didn't hit him.

"You need to learn your place, Winchester, do you not realize that you're our _property_ now?" Ketch demanded. "You are a weapon in our arsenal, so don't labor under the delusion you're anything else, that you're even truly _human_."

Sam turned toward him, their faces inches apart, but he didn't pull back. "You know what, Ketch? I think the only thing that isn't human in this room, is _you_."

Ketch stayed there glaring at him furiously for a long time, his mouth working as if trying to find the right words but then he pulled back suddenly and whipped around toward the guards and the demon. He snatched an angel blade off a table of instruments on one side of the room and slammed it into the demon's chest. The demon sparked out with a choked off cry and then collapsed to the floor.

"Clean this filth up," Ketch snarled at the guards, throwing the angel blade, now covered with demon blood, back onto the tray before turning back to Sam. "You are going to regret this, Winchester. I'm not going to take these foolish little rebellious streaks from you anymore. They are petty and childish."

Sam cocked his eyebrow. "Really? Then what do you call this? Come on, Ketch, we both know you only took Cas and me captive because you just couldn't stand to let us pull one over on you. Get your narcissism in check. The universe doesn't actually revolve around you."

Ketch was in his face again, hands gripping Sam's wrists above the restraints. "Oh, but you are wrong. You see, this, right here, _is_ my universe and I will run it exactly how I want to. And you are just another ant, just another supernatural _freak_ , that I will use to wipe other supernatural freaks off the face of the earth. Your life is mine, and you will do well to remember that."

"Sure," Sam replied blandly.

"You will regret this," Ketch snarled. "And you will cooperate. One way or another I will get you to do what I want, and I don't think you're going to like the ideas I have, Sam. I don't think you'll like them at all."

"I'm shaking."

Ketch's fury turned his face red, but he somehow pulled himself away. "Before the end of the day, you'll do as I ask," was all he said before he strode out of the room.

Dr. Herriot gave a longsuffering sigh and hurried after him. Sam sat in the chair, feeling satisfied at how he'd stood up to Ketch, but he was also worried. He didn't really believe that Ketch could make him use his powers before the end of the day, but he was genuinely concerned about the fact that _he_ believed he could.

So to what lengths would Ketch go to try and persuade him?

* * *

 _Castiel wearily trudged back to his cell with the guards_. That day Lionel had taken him to the wind tunnel as he had said—surprisingly, the Men of Letters had one for their own use—and though it was much better than having the scientists continuously touching him, Castiel's wings had been overworked. At first Castiel had actually found the wind tunnel enjoyable, or would have if it hadn't been for the circumstance. To be able to feel the wind in his feathers again, however sparse they were, and feel it cushion under his wings to lift him up was something he hadn't gotten to experience for far too long.

But he wasn't able to fly. He'd tried, flapping his wings, taking hops in the streams of wind and trying to get lift, but the truth of the matter was, that his wings were not in any condition to fly. He could sustain a few seconds of wobbly flight before he would awkwardly stumble or even crash back to the ground as the cushioning wind slipped through the gaps where feathers used to be.

Of course, Lionel hadn't seemed to take the hint. He'd kept pushing Castiel, and if he didn't keep going he would get a zap from his collar. So by the end of the session, when Lionel had finally seen everything he wanted to, Castiel's wings were aching from the strain on the bent feathers, his body was bruised from his many falls, and he was simply dejected at this confirmation of the poor shape his wings were in and the probability that he would never fly again.

At least they hadn't tried to take away his modified t-shirt. Castiel had gotten several looks when they first saw it, but they didn't seem to pay much attention to him. After all, he was just an object to them. Nothing to be paid attention to except for scientific purposes.

So when he got back to his cell, he slumped on his cot, wings wrapped around himself, wondering how Sam was doing.

He certainly didn't want to see Ketch when the Englishman barged into the room, a dark look on his face.

Castiel perked with interest. Why was he so angry? Had Dean found them?

"Get up," Ketch snarled at him, reaching down and clipping a chain to the back of Castiel's collar like a leash and then proceeded to haul him to his feet, dragging him toward the door.

Castiel dug his heels in, grabbing the chain to ease some of the strain. "What are you doing? Where are you taking me?" he demanded.

Ketch touched his bracelet and Castiel staggered with a cry as the pain tore through him briefly.

"Shut your mouth, halo," Ketch snapped.

Castiel glowered, but followed, mainly just concentrating on keeping his wings out of the way of Ketch's feet since the man was crowding too close.

They bypassed the lab, which confused Castiel at first and then filled him with trepidation. If they weren't going to the lab, where _were_ they going? He didn't think it would be anywhere good.

Ketch scanned his hand to enter a large room that was circular and the whole floor was painted as a devil's trap. It reminded Castiel of the 'dungeon' in the Winchester's bunker, expect with more chains and manacles attached to the floor and walls.

Ketch pulled Castiel inside to the middle of the devil's trap, and yanked so hard on his chain he stumbled to his knees. He fell awkwardly, crushing one wing painfully against the ground as they flailed for balance before he could tuck them against his back. Ketch locked the chain attached to Castiel's collar to a loop set into the concrete floor. The chain was just barely long enough for him to sit upright. He crouched there on the floor, glaring up at his captor.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"Oh, you have your dear human master to thank for your current situation," Ketch told him. "Sam refuses to cooperate, so I'm going to force him to. And you're going to help me."

Castiel clenched his hands into fists, his lip pulling back into a sneer. "No matter what you do to me, Sam will never give in to you."

"Well, I guess we'll see who's right in, oh, let's say about… about ten minutes, tops?" Ketch replied, cocking his eyebrow. "Unless it takes less time than that for the demons I'm about to let in here to pluck you like a Christmas turkey."

Castiel felt his heart plummet, starting to see the plan unfolding. "Ketch, don't do this," he said, shaking his head. "Please, don't."

Something like a cruel glee glinted in Ketch's eyes and he leaned over, gripping Castiel's chin and yanking his face up further. "See, angel? Didn't I tell you I'd have you begging on your knees?"

And then he turned toward the door and Castiel was left watching his retreating back in disgust.

"I will kill you for this," he said. "That's a promise."

Ketch shot one more smirk over his shoulder and shut the door behind him.

* * *

 _Sam was still in the imaging room,_ alone now after the guards had carted the dead demon away. He tested his restraints, tugging at them experimentally, but there was no real give to them and even if he managed to slip a hand out of one of the metal cuffs, he would scrape half his skin off doing so.

Sam was startled as Ketch came storming back into the room, slamming the door open. He strode over to Sam and began to release his restraints.

"Change your mind?" Sam asked.

Ketch didn't reply, simply unlocked the manacles and hauled Sam to his feet, clapping handcuffs onto his wrists. Ketch gripped his arm and Sam stumbled along with him as they left the room, then the lab altogether, and continued down the hall in the opposite direction of the cellblock.

"Where are we going?" Sam demanded as he noticed the change in direction, trying to keep his nervousness at bay.

Ketch still didn't say anything until they got to a room with one guard standing in front of the door. Ketch nodded and the man opened the door. Ketch held Sam tighter, leaning close to him.

"What was it you said before, Sam?" Ketch asked in a low, dangerous voice. "Noting is worth losing your humanity over?"

Sam felt chills crawl up his spine.

"I think we'll put that to the test. See how much of a hypocrite you really are." Ketch shoved him through the door and it slammed shut behind Sam's back.

The room was round, and the floor was all one big devil's trap, but it wasn't any of that that caught his attention; it was the figure kneeling in the center of the room.

"Cas?!" Sam cried in sudden recognition.

Cas was looking up at him in resigned horror. "Sam," he said, shaking his head sadly. "I'm so sorry."

"Your…wings," Sam stuttered out, unable to look at anything else. He'd suspected Cas' wings were visible now from what Ketch had told him and the feather he had torn out and given to Sam, but actually seeing them…Sam was unable to keep the awe from his face. They were big and midnight black and even if he could see some damage to them, they were still beautiful.

But before he could mention any of that to Cas, a door at the other side of the room opened and in poured four figures, three men and the woman from earlier. Sam could instantly tell they were demons because the blood in his veins called to their demonic signature; he could smell them, and his body already craved more demon blood.

Their eyes widened as they caught sight of Cas, wings fully on display.

"Well, would you look at that," one said with a leer, eyes flashing black. "A little birdy caught in a trap."

"Nice of them to leave us a plaything," another said.

"Sam," Cas said urgently, glancing between the advancing demons and the hunter. "Whatever happens, don't—"

The demons were on him before he could finish. Of course, Sam already knew what he'd been planning on saying, and unfortunately, he was going to have to do the exact opposite.

"Stop!" he screamed, running to his friend's aid, as Cas attempted to fight the demons off. But he was chained to the floor by that horrific collar, and even though his arms and legs were free, his range of motion was terrible and left no room for maneuvering in a fight.

Of course, Sam was soon to see that Cas had more weapons in his arsenal than he'd anticipated.

As one of the demons reached out to grab a fistful of his feathers, Cas flicked his wing out and hit the demon square in the chest. The demon cried out as he was flung back, skidding over the floor.

Sam kicked another one who was coming up on Cas' back, and gave another demon a double fisted punch to the face. He wished he'd had time to slip these cuffs—it made fighting demons a hell of a lot harder.

"Sam!" Cas' cry came a second too late.

One of the demons had grabbed Sam by the back of his shirt and was flinging him to the concrete floor. The breath slammed out of Sam and he cracked his head, seeing stars.

He forced air back into his lungs, rolling over with a wheezing groan, just as Cas cried out.

"That's right, little birdy, sing real loud," the female demon was saying as she wrenched a handful of feathers from the top of Cas' wing.

Another demon had grabbed his other wing, forcing Cas onto his face with a foot to the back his neck, and was currently wrenching the angel's wing in the wrong direction, looking like he might snap it. Cas shouted in pain and frustration, and Sam was sick at the violent display. He staggered to his feet, lunging toward the female demon and kicking her aside.

That was when something popped in Cas' wing and the angel screamed in surprised agony.

The sound of his friend's pain caused Sam to whip around toward the other demon and without thinking, swung his hand up and flung the demon back with the power from the demon blood.

The demon hit the wall with a gasp, and Sam closed his fist with a wrenching motion. Black smoke spilled out of the demon's mouth, and slammed into the ground.

Before Sam had a chance to register what he had done, another demon ran at him with a yell, and tackled him from behind.

Something snapped inside Sam, and he forced his power into the demon, burning out the black soul, until sparks popped behind the demon's eyes and he collapsed, still and silent on the ground.

Sam was on his feet them, and, without thinking, took out the last two who had converged on Cas in the same way. Once he had finished with them, he looked around for more.

But there weren't any more demons. There was just him, standing there, panting as horrified realization began to dawn on him while fatigue and a splitting headache settled in—and there was also Cas.

Sam turned around to look at the angel and when he saw the horror in his friend's blue eyes as Cas stared back, Sam broke.

* * *

 _Ketch stood with Herriot in the next room_ , watching a monitor that showed what was happening. He watched as the demons converged on the halo, and saw the exact moment Sam Winchester snapped, finally using his powers.

He smiled, self-satisfaction washing through him as he turned to Herriot. "See, I told you I would get him to do it."

She spared him no more than a glance but turned back to watch the screen with interest.

Ketch had promised Sam and the halo he would break them. It looked like he had just succeeded.

Then Sam collapsed and the halo scrambled to him in a disgusting display of devotion that had Ketch lifting his lip in a sneer. He could hear the halo crying out for help through the speakers.

Herriot turned to him. "Should we pull him out?"

"No," Ketch replied firmly, eyes glued to the monitor.

"He might die," she protested.

"He won't," Ketch told her. "Leave them there to stew for a while. It will teach them both a lesson."

Herriot folded her arms across her chest. "This isn't furthering our scientific research any."

"It was never meant to," Ketch replied and gave the screen one last look before he turned on his heel and left the room.

* * *

 _Castiel watched in utter horror as the last two demons fell_ right before they could reach for his wings, and then his eyes were glued to Sam just standing there between the bodies, chest heaving.

No, this couldn't be happening.

Castiel wanted to scream, but he couldn't make a sound. His wing ached, but whether it was broken or dislocated, he didn't care. He would have let them tear every feather off, break every bone of his wings to keep Sam from having to do this.

Memories of Dean's face so long ago now, when Castiel had demanded he torture Alastair and Dean had begged him not to make him do it came to him. But that was before they had become real friends, and that had been done out of duty. He hadn't given Dean a choice; he'd forced him to do it even though he knew how it would break him. But Sam…he was Castiel's friend, his brother, and he knew that Sam had done this to protect _him_ , because he had been helpless, because he had gotten them into this mess. He had made Sam do something he had vowed never to do again, and Castiel would _never_ forgive himself for this.

Slowly Sam's eyes came up to meet his, and Castiel nearly broke at the shame and self-hatred he saw there. He hadn't seen that in Sam for so long, thought his young friend had finally gotten through that. But now that lack of self-confidence was back and all because of him.

"Sam," he whispered, moisture stinging his eyes.

Sam cried out then, clapping a hand to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood began to drip dark and thick from his nose and onto his upper lip. He staggered and then collapsed to his hands and knees, another choked off cry torn from his throat.

"Sam!" Castiel called and maneuvered as far as his chain could reach so he could grab Sam's shoulder, pulling him closer. "Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam groaned into his hands, collapsing to curl up on the floor. More blood was dripping from his nose, and Castiel dragged Sam toward him so he could see more clearly. "Sam!"

"Blood," Sam managed, panting.

Castiel could feel the turmoil in Sam's body, the power he'd used straining him beyond his human limits. It had been so long since Sam had used his powers and now he had killed four demons in under a minute. Castiel felt a sick pit in his stomach as he wondered whether, on top of everything else, Sam had pushed himself too far.

"Help!" he cried out. He didn't really expect anything, but maybe the Men of Letters cared enough about Sam as an asset that they would help him. "Please, he needs help!"

But no one came. It didn't surprise him. Castiel simply pulled Sam closer, propping the young man's head on one knee and using the hem of his shirt to wipe the blood from Sam's face. The hunter's eyes were still squeezed shut in pain, but he seemed to be mostly unconscious. Castiel tried to reach his grace past the power of the collar, if only to heal him a little, take a little pain away, but he only managed to give himself a headache.

Fine, he would do the only thing he could then, and simply be there for Sam. Make sure he knew that Castiel didn't blame him for this. He knew Sam would beat himself up about this for a long time after, and Castiel wouldn't have that, not when it was his own fault for being so helpless in the first place.

He shifted so that he could comfortably pull Sam's upper body into his lap, propping his head in the crook of his arm, then wrapped his wings protectively around the younger Winchester. A bit more blood seeped from Sam's nose and he whimpered, but didn't wake. Castiel wiped that away too, and settled a hand on Sam's chest.

"It's okay, Sam. We'll get through this," he whispered. "I promise."

He just hoped his promise didn't have to be empty.


	9. Call

**So yeah, you're probably all going to hate me for this chapter too… :P**

 **Thanks to my guest reviewers Guest and oooPenywiseooo. Guest, I would love to see more Sam and Cas moments in the show-maybe if Jared grows up and stops picking on poor Misha so much LOL :P**

Chapter Nine

Call

Sam came to, and instantly wished he hadn't. His head felt like it was about to explode. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, behind his eyes. In fact, his whole body felt wrung out, shaky, too hot and too cold at the same time. He moaned weakly, the sound quickly turning into more of a whimper.

"Sam?"

A cool hand was on his forehead, fingers sweeping briefly through his hair before resettling on his jaw, and curling around his neck in tense urgency, insistent. For a moment he thought it was Dean, was thinking of how he would tease him for this obvious chick-flick moment, but then memories shot through his already pounding head and his eyes flew open.

He cried out as light pierced his eyes, instantly making him squeeze them shut again, and the hands were now gripping his shoulders, steadying him.

"Sam, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

Sam grunted unintelligibly, but the near panic in the familiar voice forced his eyes open again, slower this time, and through squinted lids, he looked up to see Cas leaning over him, worry in his eyes. Sam was confused to see himself surrounded by copious amounts of black feathers. He reached up a shaking hand to touch them, just then realizing his hands were still cuffed, and the feathers twitched slightly under his fingers. _Wings. Cas' wings._ Now Sam remembered everything.

He jerked away, his head sliding off of Cas' lap and hitting the floor. He winced, but rolled onto his stomach. He saw the bodies of the demons then, their eyes burned out. He had done that, he'd used the demon blood when he'd sworn never to do so again. And Cas…Cas had watched him do it. He remembered the look of horror in the angel's eyes after he had killed the demons and something deep inside of him fractured once again as the memories returned, making him sick.

A strangled noise that was half between a sob and a cry of anger escaped his lips and he pressed his hands to his aching head.

"Sam," Cas said, and with a rattle of chain, he had scooted a couple more feet, and settled his hand on Sam's shoulder again.

Sam flinched back. "Don't," he bit out. "Don't touch me."

Cas pulled back as if slapped. There was silence for a long moment before he said in a hesitant, strangled voice. "Sam, I'm so sorry. I would have…I would have given anything not to have you do this."

And then Sam suddenly realized that Cas blamed _himself_ for this. He turned back to his friend with horror, trying to repair the damage he had inadvertently done. "No, Cas, that's not…this was all on me. I don't blame you, it's just…I understand if you can't…I did it. I gave in. I let it get the better of me. You don't…you don't have to pretend. You don't have to be nice." He wrapped his arms around his stomach, huddled on his knees. He was sick with disgust at himself for giving Ketch exactly what that bastard had wanted. Proving him right in the end. Maybe Sam really was still nothing but a blood-sucking freak. After all, it hadn't taken him much to fall off the wagon again. Even now with the dead demons lying around, he could smell their blood, and he wanted it. Knew it would bring his strength back.

His stomach heaved and he retched. There was hardly anything in his stomach but that didn't stop the dry-heaves from wracking his body.

Cas' hand was on his shoulder again and he tensed, but didn't shove him away this time, and miraculously, Cas hadn't pulled away from him in disgust. In fact, Cas didn't seem to be disgusted with him at all, if that were possible.

"Sam, why did you use the power?" Cas asked him softly as Sam wiped his mouth and settled upright again, Cas at his side.

Sam recoiled for a second, but there was no judgment in Cas' voice, in fact, just the opposite. More of a rhetorical question than anything. He clenched his hands into fists where they rested between his knees.

"I…I just, I had no choice," he said softly.

"Exactly," Cas said. "Sam, you had no weapons, and you…you were aiding me, and I apologize for not being able to do more, but…I wanted to thank you."

Sam shook his head. "You know I'd do anything to keep you and Dean safe, right? I don't regret _that_ , Cas, never that, but…I slipped," he cringed in disgust, trying to keep the waver from his voice as moisture stung his eyes. "I'm still just a blood sucking freak."

"Sam…"

"No, I'm a warrior, I've been up against worse odds, I should have been able to fight them off without that. I just…I gave in. I guess it was too strong for me."

"We both should have been able to fight them off," Cas said firmly. "But Ketch set this up, you understand that? He set this up to get exactly what he wanted out of us. We both failed this time."

Sam bit back a sob, trying to fight back the emotion, the shame. "But I still did it. I promised myself I would never do that again."

"Sam this is not on you," Cas said insistently. "The Men of Letters have forced this upon you, this is on _them_. And partly on me. I brought us here, after all."

Sam finally looked over at him. "Cas, no, you can't blame yourself either."

"But I am to blame," the angel said blandly.

Sam shifted so that he could face him. "No, you're not. We agreed together that we would take on whatever the Brits threw at us. We're doing that now. I might have failed miserably, but I'm…I'm still in this fight. And we need to lock it down." Sam shook his head, steely determination coming over him as he fought off the splitting headache. "Before they can make us do anything else we're gonna regret."

"How?" Cas asked.

"I don't know yet, but we'll think of something." He finally looked Cas over, taking in the huge black wings again. "Are you okay? God, your wings, did the demons…did they do a lot of damage?"

Cas shuffled his wings so that they settled more firmly against his back. "My left wing is sprained, or possibly dislocated, but you stopped them before they did too much damage." He looked straight into Sam's eyes. "Thank you, Sam. Despite how you did it, you still saved me; because that's the kind of person you are. You always look after your friends and family in a fight. When I hunted with Ketch, he never did that. You and Dean…you two are truly good men, despite your flaws. So even if you were forced to use the demon blood that doesn't make you a monster and it doesn't make you evil. You're still Sam Winchester, and that makes you a hero."

Sam's eyes pricked with tears again, but this time, ones of disbelief and gratitude. He ducked his head. He didn't know how to reply to that. He was just so thankful to have Cas as part of his family, to know that he could be forgiven, even if it would take him a little while to forgive himself. He had to remind himself he had done it to protect a brother, and even though he'd used those powers in the so-called name of good before, this was the first time he thought he might truly be able to justify his actions.

Perhaps he could forgive himself sooner than he thought.

"So," Cas said cutting into his thoughts with a businesslike manner. "We need a plan."

Sam nodded, trying to kick his aching head into gear, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Have any ideas?"

Cas gave him a weary smile. "A stupid one."

Sam grinned back. "Okay then, let's hear it."

* * *

 _It was a horrifically stupid plan_ , and they both knew that whether they succeeded or failed, it was going to have consequences. Still, Sam and Cas both were willing to try, because there was nothing that could be worse than staying here, and if they had even a chance of getting ahold of Dean and letting him know the situation, then they were going to take it.

Of course, there were several steps that they had to take to get there.

"Are you sure Ketch has a phone on him?" Sam asked Cas after they had detailed the plan.

Cas nodded. "I'm almost positive. I saw him on it this morning. I believe he keeps it in his right jacket pocket."

Good, that should be easy to get to. Sam was bent over the lock that held Cas' chain lead to the loop on the floor, using the feather Ketch had taunted him with to pick it. Cas had been surprised when Sam had shown him that he'd kept the feather on him, sheepishly explaining he thought it could be used as a weapon in a pinch. Cas hadn't been angry, though, rather seeming intrigued by Sam's ingenuity.

They'd also spotted a camera near the ceiling above the door in the room. Sam had figured there would be a camera, but now they could use it to their advantage. He was currently blocking the view of his lock picking with his body, making it seem like he and Cas were just having a conversation, but as soon as he'd finished that, they would enact part two.

Sam had also managed to slip one of the cuffs around his wrist and he could easily put it back on loosely when he needed to for Ketch's benefit.

"Got it," he said triumphantly as he felt the lock give and snapped it open.

Cas smiled, but stayed where he was, making it look like he was still chained. "Good. Are you ready?"

Sam nodded. He positioned the manacle back around his wrist and then let out a scream. Doubling over and grabbing his head.

Cas' hands were on him as he curled into the fetal position, forcing his body to shake as if he were having a seizure. It wasn't that hard to fake, actually, considering that the comedown from the demon blood was making him jittery anyway.

"Help! Is anyone out there? Someone help him!" Cas cried. Sure, it hadn't worked before, but maybe if they thought Sam was having some kind of adverse relapse, they might be more responsive.

Sure enough, after about a minute or two of the faked fit, footsteps were heard outside the door and it opened, revealing Ketch.

"What the bloody hell is going on in here?" he demanded.

"Please, he needs a doctor," Cas cried, and Sam almost smiled, wondering when the angel had gotten to be such a good actor. "He's dying! Something's wrong!"

Ketch sneered, not coming any closer. "He'll be fine."

Sam make choking sounds as if he couldn't breathe, he even tried a little foaming at the mouth, before he wondered if he was overselling it.

"Please, Ketch, I'm begging you," Cas gritted out.

Ketch grunted and strode over, kicking Sam roughly onto his back. The sudden movement wrenched Sam's hand free of the cuff he had undone, and he looked up from under half-closed lids to see Ketch's eyes widen.

"What the—"

He didn't get a chance to finish because Cas was already launching himself at Ketch, taking him to the ground. Ketch cried out as his body slammed into the hard concrete, while Cas raised a fist to slam into his face. Ketch caught it and brought a foot up to kick Cas in the chest, sending the angel tumbling backwards, flapping his wings for balance.

Ketch was on his feet in an instant but so was Sam.

"You feathered freak," Ketch snarled and tapped something on his wrist. Cas suddenly collapsed to his knees with a scream and Sam caught his breath, having forgotten the collar the angel wore. He leapt forward, bodyslamming Ketch to one side and punching him in the nose, before he grabbed the bracelet and wrenched it off of Ketch's wrist.

The man gave a strangled cry of rage as Cas staggered to his feet again and launched forward to resume his attack on Ketch. He got several punches in before Ketch kicked him in the stomach, and grabbed his arm, flinging him to the ground in a pile of wings and limbs. Sam came at him then, grabbing him from behind. Ketch kicked backwards, his heel cracking into the side of Sam's knee. There was a sharp pain and Sam's leg gave out, leaving Ketch to spin him around and throw him into the wall.

Sam hit hard, his vision whiting out for a second, but he had been successful. He swiftly tucked the cellphone he had slipped from Ketch's pocket into the waistband of his pants.

"You'll both pay for this," Ketch said. "Starting with you, halo."

Sam looked up. He saw Ketch prowling toward like a cat would a fallen sparrow.

Except Cas was no sparrow.

The angel flung himself from the wall, straight at Ketch, and slammed a punishing fist into the man's face, effectively cracking his nose. Ketch gave a muffled shout of pained rage, and Cas followed it up with a kick to the ribs. Ketch doubled over and for a moment it looked like Cas would obliterate the man, but then Ketch surged forward, blocking Cas' next punch with his forearm and grabbed for one of his wings.

"No!" Sam cried but it was too late.

It was the same wing the demon had injured earlier. Cas had been favoring it so Ketch had probably seen that it was weakened, and he used that to his advantage. He wrenched it down, and Cas cried out, having no choice but to fall to his knees to relieve some of the pressure.

But Ketch didn't stop there. He shifted, pressed his knee against the arm of the wing as leverage and pulled back with a sharp crack.

Cas' scream pierced Sam like a knife. The pure agony that rang through it brought tears to his own eyes.

"Cas!" he cried out in a strangled voice as he fought to get to his feet.

Ketch kicked Cas in the back, sending him sprawling to the floor with a look of sadistic satisfaction on his face. "I told you I would clip your wings, halo," he said, straightening his shoulders and then his tie, which had come askew in the fight. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed blood from under his nose with it.

"You'll never fly again," Ketch continued as Cas dragged himself toward Sam. The hunter reached out a hand, gripping his friend's shoulder tightly as Cas shuddered in pain. "You wanted to be with the humans so bad? Well now you're just another earthbound freak who should be put down on principle."

Cas forced himself to his knees purposefully positioning himself between Ketch and Sam, his good wing arching in a protective gesture, feathers bristling in anger. "Maybe I am," he ground out. "But if being an 'earthbound freak' is the exact opposite of what you are, then I'm proud to be that."

Ketch sneered. "It's over, angel. Say your goodbyes. You won't be seeing your precious human friends again."

"No!" Sam cried as Ketch bent to pick up the bracelet from where Sam had tossed it, and swiped a finger over it. Cas jerked and screamed, but the sound was soon strangled in his throat as he collapsed to the ground, body twitching mercilessly, jarring his broken wing in what had to be a painful way. Sam tried to hold onto him, make sure he didn't hurt himself amid the thrashing, but it did little good and Sam could only look down at his friend's face, eyes rolled back in his head, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth from a bitten tongue, until the angel finally passed out with a strangled sob and the sigils on his collar stopped glowing.

Sam held Cas' still twitching body across his knees as Ketch strode over to them.

"No, don't," Sam pleaded helplessly, but Ketch simply kicked him in the face, causing him to reel back.

"You should have just cooperated, Sam," Ketch said and grabbed both of Cas' ankles, starting to pull him toward the door.

"No! Stop, please!" Sam cried, terrified with what Ketch would do to Cas now.

However as soon as the door slammed shut behind them, Sam turned his back to the cameras, half pretending to be slumped in grief, half not needing to, as he pulled the phone from his waistband. He gave a shuddering breath as he turned the phone on, and was so thankful there wasn't a lock screen that he nearly sobbed. His shaking fingers quickly punched in Dean's number, almost unable to believe it, and then held his breath as he listened to the ringtone.

* * *

 _Dean was driving to the next place on the list._ He and Mom had been unsuccessful so far, and he was getting more and more anxious. Crowley still hadn't been able to find anything or get ahold of Rowena, and Dean was about ready to throttle the demon. Surely _Crowley_ could be able to find something. He had found the Men of Letters' place before. Of course, now they'd probably amped up security measures…

But then his phone rang, and he hurriedly dug it from his pocket without looking at the ID, hoping it was Crowley with good news—and, boy, the fact that he'd ever correlate those two things together was just a testament as to how screwed up their lives were. He pressed it to his ear, keeping one hand on the wheel.

"Crowley you better have an answer for me because I am just about ready to shiv your ass, you hear?"

" _Dean?"_

Dean slammed on the brakes, and yanked the car off to the side of the road to Mom's cry of shocked protest.

"Dean, what the hell?" she demanded, looking over at him, gripping the dash.

Dean was already fumbling with the speakerphone, unable to fully believe he was hearing who he thought was on the other end. "Sammy?" he asked cautiously, turning to Mom whose eyes had suddenly gone wide.

"Sam, is that you?" she asked, leaning closer to the phone.

"Yeah, it's me," Sam said. His voice was rough and shaky and it made Dean's blood boil. Whoever had caused that reaction in his baby brother—and he had a few good ideas about the responsible party—was gonna pay royally.

"Sammy, where are you?" he demanded.

"I—I don't really know, Dean, but, I thought you could track this call. And hurry, I don't know how much time…"

"Okay," Dean said quickly and looked to Mom who was already hauling the laptop bag from the backseat. Dean handed her the phone and pulled the laptop out, checking the number from the phone Sam was calling from.

"Sam, are you okay?" Mom asked and Dean could tell she was trying to keep her emotions in check.

"I'll live," Sam replied with a sigh.

Dean was hurriedly logging the number into the phone-tracking site, waiting for it to load. The wi-fi he was hacking into out here on the highway sucked, and he hoped it would be strong enough to give him what he needed.

"What about Cas?" Dean asked as he waited.

There was a pause that seemed to go on forever. "He was alive five minutes ago," came Sam's voice.

Dean's heart was in his throat. He didn't like the sound of that at all. But he wasn't going to freak Sam out with his own worries right now, so he tried to keep his voice calm.

"Don't worry, Sammy, Mom and I are on the way. Just hang in there."

The phone tracker was going through now. Dean held his breath, praying Sam and Cas weren't on the other side of the country, and then it went through, pinpointing a spot just outside of Wichita. He heaved a breath of relief. Finally, a win.

"Okay, okay, I got you, Sammy, you're just outside Wichita, I'm only a little over thirty miles away, can you hang in there that long?"

"Yeah," Sam's relief was palpable. "I think we can manage that."

"Good." Dean was throwing the laptop into the backseat again, and already pulling back onto the road. "I'm coming for you, little brother."

"Hey Dean," Sam said, his voice suddenly hard and Dean's ears pricked intently. "When you get here, don't bother taking prisoners."

Dean's jaw hardened and his hands gripped the steering wheel with steely resolve. "I wasn't planning on it."


	10. Avenging

**Okay, guys here is the one you have all been waiting for :P I hope you enjoy! Only one chapter after this one!**

Chapter Ten

Avenging

Sam ended the call just as the door slammed open. He spun around, the relief he had just felt at hearing his brother's voice again dissolving instantly as Ketch appeared in the doorway along with two guards. Ketch strode over to Sam and the hunter stared him down before a leather dress shoe kicked him in the face. He collapsed to the side and the phone skittered from his hand.

"I knew that little play was a setup," Ketch snarled as he bent to retrieve his phone, then stepped on Sam's hand as the hunter made a grab for it. Ketch leaned over and gripped a fistful of Sam's hair, hauling him painfully to his knees, one of them smarting from the earlier fight. "Who did you call? Your brother? Dean's not going to be able to find you!"

Sam just stared at him, silent. That infuriated Ketch more and his lip curled. "Very well, it will serve you right to watch your brother die. But not before he sees what you are. A freak just like you always were. I don't think he'll be too pleased with his junkie little brother, will he?"

Sam swallowed hard, but didn't let his pain show on his face. Ketch leaned down, getting closer to him. "I wonder…shall I allow a demon to possess him? Force you to practice your exorcisms on your own brother? That might be incentive for you to do as I ask. Obviously, you throw your humanity out the window when the ones you care about are threatened, just like I anticipated."

Sam swung his other hand up then, holding Cas' feather like a dagger and stabbed it into Ketch' thigh. The Brit screamed and tore the feather from his leg, kicking Sam in the chest as he staggered back a step, calling to the guards. "Take him!"

Sam was hauled to his feet, but he was smiling. The more pain he could inflict on Ketch, the better.

He was hauled back to the lab, to the room he had been taken to the first day with the chair and the monitors. Dr. Herriot was there, preparing an IV drip that had a bag of blood hooked to it. Sam balked, his stomach rebelling at the sight.

"No," he ground out, digging his heels in, but the guards pushed him forward and threw him bodily into the chair.

Sam struggled as they strapped his down, this time forcing a strap across his mouth to form a gag. Sam growled past the strap helplessly as he was completely restrained. Ketch stood off to one side with a sadistic gleam in his eye as he watched.

Herriot took the IV needle and swiftly inserted it into Sam's neck. He jerked, and pulled at his restraints, but he was held too tightly and it was too late.

"This is the picture I'll make sure Dean sees when I drag him in here in chains," Ketch said smugly, stalking around Sam's chair. "And then I'll take him to see your precious halo, or what's left of it."

Sam's eyes tracked him, worry for Cas swelling in his chest and taking over the surge of the demon blood for a minute. Ketch saw the question in his eyes and smirked.

"You want to know my plans for your little pet?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Well, unfortunately, I damaged it, Lionel isn't very happy, but the wing will never heal well enough for him to do any more experiments, so we decided to take the angel's body for the sake of science instead. The vivisection will be in, oh, ten minutes, tops?"

Sam's eyes blew wide and he strained against the straps, shouting past the gag. Ketch just watched him with a pleased gleam in his eyes.

"Don't worry, Lionel will have it all recorded. If you're good, sometime I'll let you watch the video." He nodded to Herriot and they retreated to the door. "Now, be a good boy and take your vitamins."

Sam forced every bit of hatred he felt into his eyes as he stared Ketch down. The Brit met his gaze like a triumphant conqueror before he turned around.

The only thing that gave Sam comfort was that Dean was coming. He was coming and when he did, Ketch was going to die.

Sam just hoped it wasn't too late for Cas.

* * *

 _Castiel came to blearily. His body still felt like_ it had small charges surging through it from that last bout with the collar, his muscles twitching uncontrollably. It had been so much worse than any of the times before, he hadn't even realized it went up to a higher intensity.

Castiel forced his eyes open, hearing people nearby, and looked around frantically for Sam. But Sam wasn't there. Castiel was back in the lab, in the main room. He was once again lying on the cold metal table, but this time only had the manacles around his wrists and ankles. His shirt had been cut off and the table was cold against his aching back.

It was then he centered the ache to his left wing. He twitched the appendage, but found resistance that only caused more agony to rip through his body and grace both. He turned his head to one side and saw his wing; both of them had been spread over two long tables that had been pulled to either side of the slab to accommodate his mighty, yet battered wings. They had been strapped down too, and also had ropes hooked around points in his joints, and pulled taught so he couldn't move an inch. The position would have been painful in any case, but with his wings injured as they were it was agonizing. Every little movement he made pulled at them. He was unable to keep a noise of pain from escaping him but it was muffled by that wretched gag, which was so tight it was cutting into his cheeks.

Footsteps strode over, accompanied by a familiar voice. "Well, are we set?"

Castiel glanced over at Ketch who came to stand over him, a triumphant smile on his face. He was in his shirtsleeves, an apron tied over his clothes and Castiel felt a pit in his stomach at that sight. Ketch met his gaze, the proud conqueror, before he looked up at Lionel and his assistants who came over, pushing a cart that held many sharp and ugly objects. Castiel wriggled against the table before the pain in his wings stopped him.

"How are we going to proceed, sir?" Harker asked, setting up a camera, focused right on Castiel.

Lionel started putting on the rubber gloves, snapping them tight. "We will begin with the initial vivisection. We're going to be paying particular attention to how the angelic grace sustains the body during the procedure and taking notes on how it differs from the ones we have performed on demons."

Castiel's eyes blew wide at this casual news from the scientist about their plans for him. Ketch gave him another look, obviously enjoying the moment of his distress.

"Then we shall do the harvesting. The feathers will all be taken for the spells and potions research department, and the grace will be extracted as well once we no longer have need of a live specimen. Internal organs will be preserved for further testing. After which, I plan to keep the skeleton on display. It will be perfect for an extensive study into angelic anatomy."

"Oh yes, quite," Ketch said, as he fiddled with the tools Lionel had on the tray, picking up some kind of hook with a cocked eyebrow.

Castiel was trying his best not to panic, but the thought of being cut up for the sake of science—while he was alive…he actually hadn't thought it could get any worse than what he'd already been through but it seemed like he was being proven wrong. He struggled against his bonds despite the pain of his wing, but the sigils were locking him down and he had no more strength than a human.

"Should we anesthetize it?" Brady asked, shrewdly eyeing his movement.

"No," Lionel said. "It would take too much of any drug we have, and I want to see the body's true reactions instead of those slowed by drugs."

Castiel shuddered as the situation just got worse and worse. He had to find a way out of this, had to get to Sam, wherever he was. Had he been able to call Dean? Or had Ketch found out and stopped their plan before completion?

"May I?" Ketch asked as Lionel took up Castiel's angel blade from the tray.

"Very well," Lionel sighed, though didn't look happy about it. "Just don't make a hash of this. I want clean cuts."

Ketch inclined his head in acquiescence and took the blade. He pressed the tip of it to Castiel's chest just unto his collarbone and met the angel's eyes as he started to make the cut.

Castiel tensed, clenching his hands into fists as the blade sliced through his skin, creating a V before burning on its way toward his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to watch himself be cut open.

And then, from far away, the sound of an explosion came, a small tremble running through the room. Ketch pulled the blade away and Castiel cracked his eyes open again, seeing the incredulous looks on the faces of the scientists and Ketch.

"What the hell?" Brady asked.

But Castiel knew, and as he turned his own look toward Ketch, he could see the other man knew as well.

Ketch snarled, ripping his apron off and pulling a gun from the back of his belt. "Winchester."

Castiel closed his eyes in relief.

He knew he had been right putting his faith in Dean.

* * *

" _It's just ahead on the right," Mom said_ , glancing between the map and the road as Dean gunned the Impala toward their destination. He hadn't let the speedometer drop below eighty the entire time and it was probably only a miracle that he hadn't been pulled over. Not that they could catch him. Baby always seemed to rise to the challenge when speed was needed.

Dean found the turn off, a dirt road off the highway. He had no idea where the Men of Letters had set up their new base, but it was definitely out in the middle of nowhere in a rural looking spot with lots of farmland and not a lot of people to ask questions.

Dust rose up as he tore down the road and then out if it rose what looked like a compound with sprawling buildings and gates and everything.

"There you are, you sons of bitches," he muttered, glancing at the dash clock. He'd made good time, a little under half an hour. He just hoped it was fast enough to save Sam and Cas from whatever Ketch and the British douchebags had planned for them.

"Dean," Mom said in warning, as he made no move to slow down. "What are you doing?"

"Making an entrance," Dean replied and drove straight for the gate.

There were two guards with machine guns stationed outside the chain link fence, and they shouted, pointing their guns at the approaching Impala. Instead of protesting, Mom simply rolled the window down, and leaned out, pistol in hand as she shot the two guards before they could get more than a couple shots off which missed the Impala completely.

Dean wished he had time to marvel at what a badass his mom was, but he could do that later. He just nodded to her, and they both braced as he punched the gas and Baby slammed through the gate. She might get a few scratches, but he almost thought he could detect a satisfied purr from her engine as she barreled through, and Dean spun her to a skidding halt next to the compound entrance.

More guards were coming out and Dean got off several shots, him and his mom both taking them down with little trouble. They obviously had not been ready for such an abrupt attack.

Dean hurried to the trunk, shuffling around to find weapons. He grabbed more clips for his pistol, then quickly belted a machete around his hips, and tucked his hunting knife into his belt as well. Mom equipped herself likewise, adding the pair of Enochian brass knuckles they had taken from Toni Bevel's attack bitch.

"How are we getting in?" she asked in a businesslike manner.

Something caught Dean's eye, half hidden among other weapons, purposefully tucked away, probably by Sam, so he wouldn't be tempted to use it. A determined grin broke out over his face.

"Hello, beautiful," he murmured as he picked up the grenade launcher. "I've been waiting to use you."

Mom's eyes widened. "I guess that will work."

"Damn straight," Dean said and loaded it, closing the trunk and then stepping out from behind the Impala to line up with the door. "Yippee-ki-ay, mother—"

The explosion knocked him off his feet, and debris rained down on him. He rolled to his knees, whooping.

"That's what I'm talking about!" he said, and turned to Mom who was emerging from behind the Impala.

"Let's go," he said and they hurried through the door they had created.

They tore through the compound. Anyone who tried to stop them was instantly taken down without remorse. These were not people, they were no better than the monsters they took down, in fact, in so many ways they were worse. Dean didn't feel anything no matter how many bullets he put through skulls or hearts. He only had one thing in mind and that was to save his family and God help anyone who got in his way—yeah, not likely.

He and Mom finally came out onto what looked to be a cellblock. Dean narrowed his eyes, wondering if Sam and Cas were there. There weren't any windows on the doors so he couldn't be sure.

"Sammy?" he cried. "Cas?"

"Sam? Cas?" Mom took up the call, glancing around.

There were some growls and calls from inside the cells, but nothing that sounded like it came from Sam or Cas. Dean's stomach was tying itself in knots. Where could they be?

Then the cellblock ended into another long hall. Dean saw the door for a laboratory. Remembering where Cas had been taken last time, he turned to his mom and nodded toward the door. He really hoped he _wouldn't_ find them there, but the odds were that was probably exactly where they were.

Bracing himself for what he might find, Dean kicked in the door, gun raised.

Gasps sounded out, and Dean caught sight of three men standing around a table. They all turned with shocked expressions as he and Mom burst into the room. It took Dean only a split second to recognize that blond scientist who had hurt Cas before.

"You," he snarled, and put a bullet into the man's gut.

The guy screamed and collapsed to his knees, clutching his wound. His assistants scrambled for weapons, one holding an angel blade, but Dean and his mom simply shot them both point blank and they collapsed to the ground, next to the groaning scientist, taking out a tripod with a camera as they went.

"Dean," Mom breathed.

Dean finally tore his eyes away from the scientists and looked at the metal table, and its occupant. His stomach fell to his feet.

"Cas! Son of a bitch…"

There was too much to take in at once. He just stood there slack-jawed because the first thing he noticed was _Cas had wings!_ Actual, feathery wings. The second thing he noticed was that those wing were tied to two tables in what looked like a very painful manner, and that Cas also was manacled to the metal slab, and there was a long y-shaped cut that ran from his collarbone halfway to his navel.

Between that and the tray of surgical instruments next to the slab Dean's mind finally locked onto the situation. His stomach heaved and it was everything he could do not to throw up.

He left Mom to care for Cas for the moment, and spun back around to the blond scientist, reaching down and yanking him to his feet by his lab coat.

"You bastard," he said in a low, dangerous voice as the man cried out in pain from having his wound jostled. "I told you last time, I warned you to stop this. And now you're here _vivisecting_ angels!"

"It's for science! The betterment of all of us, surely you as a hunter must see that—all the knowledge we could gain!" the man gasped out. "And it's the first time I've had a real specimen to work with…"

Dean kneed him in his wounded stomach and the man gave a strangled scream. "I should have killed you before, and now, mark my words, you will die. But not yet. I want to it be as slow and painful as you were gonna make it for Cas. And that's right, his name is _Cas_. _Castiel._ Not halo, not angel, he's not an _it_ and he sure as hell is not a _specimen—_ he's my family!So say it." Dean shook the whimpering man. "Say his name!"

"C-castiel," the man whimpered.

"Now apologize!"

The man shook his head, still blubbering, and Dean shook him harder. "Now!"

He wrenched him over to the table and bent him over to meet Cas' eyes. The angel stared up at Dean, eyes wet with relief as Mary was pressing a wad of gauze to his wound to stop the bleeding.

"Say it," Dean snarled.

"I-I'm sorry," the man whispered, sobbing.

"Say his name!"

"I'm sorry, Castiel," the man cried. "Oh god, please don't kill me!"

Dean threw him bodily into the table of computers and the man fell still with a crash of equipment. Dean would deal with him later, right now he had more important things to worry about.

"Cas," he said quietly, touching his friend's shoulder. "Oh, god, I thought…." He couldn't say that he'd half expected Cas to be dead after what Sam had said. And now he saw exactly how close he had come to losing his best friend. Cas himself looked like he hadn't been expecting to survive either.

Mom was struggling to remove the gag from his mouth and when she did, Cas swallowed hard and smiled up at Dean.

"I knew you would come," he said.

"Damn straight." Dean said, eyes smarting. He squeezed Cas' shoulder, then moved it to the side of his neck as he saw the collar there. Anger washed over him. "What the hell?"

"Ketch has the key to this," Cas said darkly.

"Good," Dean replied. "Because I'm going after his ass next."

He grabbed a key from the tray beside the table and started unlocking Cas' manacles. The angel took over holding the gauze Mom had pressed to his chest once his hands were free and glanced pleadingly between them. "Please, my wings…"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said quickly, clearing his throat and he and Mom hurried to loose the huge feathery appendages. As he worked on the straps, he took in the awesome sight. Sure, he'd seen the shadows of Cas' wings when he mojoed up but he'd never really thought of them like _this_. They had real feathers, they were huge, and they were also in pretty bad shape even though that didn't seem to make them any less impressive. He started on the left one, and saw it was slightly crooked. As he pried some of the rope away from the wing to saw through it, Cas jerked and cried out involuntarily.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…" Dean tried, not really sure what he'd done or how to proceed. He wasn't even sure how sensitive an angel's wings were or whatever.

"Not your fault it's broken," Cas gritted out.

Dean felt sick. When he found the person responsible—and he had a good idea of who it was—he was going to break something of theirs too.

"Dean," Cas said after a few seconds. "You have to find Sam. He must be somewhere in here, and I don't know what Ketch has done to him."

Dean felt sicker still, and torn. He didn't want to leave Cas in this vulnerable state, but he also needed to make sure Sam was okay.

Mom decided for him. "I'll stay with Cas, get him taken care of. You go find Sammy."

Dean nodded, clapping Cas on the shoulder one more time before heading off deeper into the lab.

There were a ton of different rooms in there with all kinds of weird equipment, but he finally found one that was occupied. And it was occupied with his little brother.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean shouted as he burst into the room, heart in his throat.

Sam was strapped to something akin to a dentist chair, straps across his chest, legs, arms, even over his mouth, keeping him from moving. He had a few bruises but other than that, didn't look too bad apart from the IV needle sticking from the side of his neck.

Dean rushed over and pulled it out. Sam whimpered a bit and shifted, head lolling as much as the restraints allowed. Dean started to unstrap him with one hand, palming his brother's cheek with the other, trying to get him to wake up. Damn, he was burning up!

"Sammy, hey, it's me," he coaxed. "I'm here. Just like I promised."

Sam's eyes blinked open, unfocused, and pupils dilated. But eventually he focused on Dean as the elder brother kept his head steady and smiled down at him.

Sam licked his lips. "D'n?" he slurred.

"Yeah, little brother," Dean said gently, carding a hand through his—extremely greasy—hair. He didn't care though, he simply pulled Sam to him, as his brother collapsed in relief, and held him close, feeling Sammy shudder in his arms.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, surprising him.

Dean frowned. "For what, Sammy?"

Sam's shoulders jerked and Dean pushed him back to look into his face, seeing tears tracing down his cheeks. "Sam?" he glanced at the IV, frowning at the red color. "The hell they give you?"

Sam sucked in a breath and looked down at his lap. "Demon blood," he whispered.

Dean felt his stomach clench, oh, those dicks were going to pay big time.

"I—I used it," Sam continued wretchedly. "I used my powers. I didn't mean to, it just happened and I had to save Cas…"

"Hey, hey," Dean said and pulled him close again, hand tangling in Sam's hair soothingly. "Do not blame yourself. This is on those British bastards _not_ you, you hear me? It doesn't matter. I know it wasn't your fault. Okay?"

Sam shuddered, taking a shaky breath. "It hurts so bad. I'm burning up."

"I know, we'll get you taken care of. Can you stand?"

Sam nodded and Dean heaved him up onto his feet. Sam leaned heavily against him, but he did manage to steady himself after a few steps. Dean didn't take his arm from around his shoulders though.

"Wait!" Sam said, stopping them. "We gotta get Cas!"

"Already done, Mom's with him," Dean assured him, pushing him into motion again.

Sam heaved a sigh of relief and soon they came out to the main room where Mom was helping Cas sit up carefully, his wings finally free.

"Sam!" the angel cried in relief as he saw the brothers emerge from the hallway.

"Cas!" Sam replied and broke from Dean's hold to stagger two steps and fold the angel in a relieved embrace. Cas returned it and Dean and Mom shared a smile before they joined the embrace too. Dean was somewhat surprised when Cas' good wing curled around them, and vaguely wondered if he always did that, even when his wings were incorporeal.

"How sweet."

Dean broke the family group hug and turned around to see Ketch standing in the doorway of the laboratory. He had a crooked, swollen nose between two black eyes and was walking with a limp.

That wasn't nearly enough for Dean.

"You son of a bitch," he snarled, striding forward, reaching for his gun.

Ketch smirked and touched something on his wrist.

Cas cried out and Dean whipped around to see the angel collapsed against Sam and Mom, clawing at the collar around his throat.

"Dean, the bracelet!" Sam yelled.

Dean whipped back around toward Ketch and saw a silver bracelet around his wrist, glowing with sigils. Dean simply shot him in the hand.

Ketch yelped and Dean followed it up with another bullet to the knee. Ketch collapsed with another cry and Dean bent over him, wrenching the bracelet from his wrist.

"Tell me how to get to the collar off," he demanded.

Ketch snarled up at him, so Dean slammed his heel into his wounded knee. "The collar, you son of a bitch!"

Ketch keened and finally reached out to tap the bracelet. Cas gasped and Dean turned around to see him tearing the collar off and throwing it to the ground.

Mom strode up to Dean and Ketch, her eyes stormy. Ketch glanced up at her.

"Ah, Mary. I didn't expect to see you here."

She slipped her hand from her pocket, revealing the brass knuckles. Ketch smirked.

"Those Enochian brass knuckles only work on angels, and sadly, I am no—"

Mom slammed her fist into his jaw and Ketch sprawled out on the floor, spitting out a tooth.

"Brass knuckles…brass knuckles," Mom stated with a shrug. "That was for hurting my boys."

"Ah," Ketch grunted as he hauled himself to his one good knee again. "Now what?"

"What do you think?" Dean demanded. "Now you die. Just like I promised."

"No, please," Ketch tried. "I can make sure no one comes after you."

Sam and Cas came over, supporting each other. Cas looked down at him coldly.

"Now who's begging on their knees?" he said.

Ketch snarled at him, but footsteps sounded out and Mick Davies hurried into the room, balking at the sight of the Winchesters and Dean's gun whipped up to point at him.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"What does it look like, you twit, help me!" Ketch pleaded. "Call the guards!"

"Most of them are dead!" Mick cried. "There's just research assistants left. I just got back to the compound myself and find it in chaos!"

"You can leave," Sam said.

"Sam," Dean protested.

"No," Sam shook his head, eyes stony. "He can live. Because he's gonna run back to England and tell the others that this 'recruit the American hunters' project is over. And if we ever see any British Men of Letters on our soil again, I think you can imagine what will happen to them."

Dean nodded in agreement. "What he said. So I'd pack your teabags, Mick. Haul ass before I change my mind."

"Davies," Ketch snarled.

But Mick was smarter than Dean gave him credit for. He turned tail and bolted.

The scientist Dean had gutshot groaned, trying to pull himself to his feet. Ketch glanced over at him.

"What do we do with them?" Mom asked.

Dean was torn between shooting them and making them suffer.

Sam spoke up. "This place has a whole zoo of captured creatures," he said. "I say we open the cellblock, leave them to clean up the mess." He gazed down unfeelingly at Ketch and the scientist. "It's not like they're going to run anywhere."

Dean smiled in satisfaction. "Yeah, and I bet those monsters you have locked up have a beef with you if you did experiments on them."

"No, please," the scientist pleaded.

Dean ignored him. He strode over to the dead assistants and grabbed Cas' angel blade from where one had dropped it on the floor and pressed it into his friend's hand.

"Thank you," Cas said. "But I need some help. I can't fit in the car with my wings…"

"But how do you…you know, put them back?" Dean asked.

Cas bit his lip, looking a bit worried. "They carved sigils into me to manifest them. If you cut it, I may be able to put my wings back."

"But Cas, your wing in broken, won't that hurt?" Sam frowned.

"We can fix it later. And you too." He and Sam shared a look that Dean didn't quite understand, and Sam finally nodded jerkily. Dean took the blade, turned to Cas' back and reluctantly pressed it into his friend's flesh. He cut through the sigil and Cas gasped, before his wings shimmered and then disappeared all together. Dean almost missed them already; they had looked oddly natural on Cas. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the angel who pulled it on gratefully.

"Let's go," Dean said.

"You can't just leave us!" the scientist pleaded.

"Sure we can, dickbag," Dean said carelessly. "Watch."

Ketch snarled at him. "Winchesters," he spat as if it were a curse.

"That's right," Dean smirked.

"Oh, by the way," Cas said, and slammed the butt of his angel blade into Ketch's already broken nose. The man cried out and collapsed to the side. And Cas stepped over him to get out the door.

They hurried down the hall and Sam found the master switch for the cellblock. He hacked the system and suddenly the lights went red, alarms started blaring and the sound of doors unlocking and being shoved open rang out down the hall accompanied by ecstatic whoops and a plethora of howls and growls.

"Let's go," Sam said swiftly.

They hauled ass out of there, but not before they heard the screams as Ketch, the scientist, and any other person unfortunate enough to still be alive in there was set upon and attacked by the creatures they thought they were so good at hunting.

Dean clearly saw Sam and Cas' relief as they made it out into the fresh air and sunlight. Sam looked around at the ruin that was the entrance and frowned.

"What the hell happened here?"

Dean grinned. "Grenade launcher."

Sam huffed a laugh, and shook his head. But Dean could see he wasn't okay. He was shaking, his cheeks were flushed with fever and his eyes were still dilated. And Cas was pale and held himself as if he were still in a crapton of pain. Dean didn't know how it really worked with his wings, but he figured it still had to hurt even when they were incorporeal.

Long story short, he needed to get his brothers home and taken care of.

"Come one," he told them, herding them toward the waiting Impala. "Let's go home."


	11. Repairs

**Okay, guys, here's some much needed comfort and healing :) I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for following this story! Your feedback has been great ^_^**

Chapter Eleven

Repairs

The ride back was quiet. And a bit tense, though not as bad as the one there, obviously. Mainly it was just hard for Dean to hear the barely concealed gasps and moans of pain from the backseat every time he hit a rough patch of road. He glanced back as Mom handed water bottles to the two invalids, and didn't like what he saw. Cas was sitting awkwardly in the seat so that his back didn't touch anything, and Sam was slumped against the window, shivering even though sweat was pouring from him. He'd sipped at the water, but was apparently too nauseous to really drink anything, so he was just pressing it against his cheek. Dean pushed Baby a little harder. He'd just passed the sign that said Lebanon was in forty miles. He hoped they could hang on until then.

"Okay, give me the lowdown," he said, forcing his voice to be businesslike. "What kind of repair work are we gonna have to do?"

Sam groaned, but Cas answered for him. "We…accidently found a way to clean Sam's body of demon blood. Quicker than letting him sweat it out through a withdrawal stage."

Dean looked back at Cas in the rearview mirror, eyebrows raised. "Oh yeah?"

"Demon blood?" Mom asked quietly, brow furrowed.

Dean glanced at her and shook his head slightly. She bit her lip and looked out the window. Dean's stomach roiled as he thought about the necessity of having that conversation with her later.

"So how do we do it?" he asked.

"Angel blood," Sam whispered.

Dean's eyes widened and he turned around to stare at Cas. "That true?"

Cas nodded tiredly. "Yes. It was Ketch's idea of torture, but it actually had some benefits to it."

Dean's hands gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white. He wasn't gonna thank that bastard any time soon, but if Cas was right, this was welcome knowledge. He felt a bit of the weight lift from his shoulders as he realized he wasn't going to have to watch his brother suffer through the withdrawal again.

They all breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled toward the bunker and Dean drove into the garage, parking Baby in her usual spot. She had taken a few hits during the rescue mission and he would have to come work on her later, but he knew she wouldn't mind him taking care of his brothers first. Still, his hand stroked her steering wheel lightly as he got out and hurried around to Sam's side.

He was already trying to open the door, but Dean did it for him since his hands were shaking so much, he could barely get a grip on anything.

"Alright, up you come," Dean coaxed and slipped an arm behind Sam's back, practically pulling his sasquatch body from the car. Sam's right leg gave out and he grunted, leaning heavily against Dean.

"You hurt?" Dean asked.

"Just bruised I think," Sam murmured. "Cramped up during the ride."

Dean urged him toward the stairs, glancing back at Mom who was offering Cas a steady hand. "You good, Cas?"

"Yes, take care of Sam first," he insisted.

Dean didn't argue this time. It was obvious that his brother was fading fast and the sooner they got the demon blood out of his system the better.

He got Sam to his room and sat him on the bed. Sam cringed and pulled at the t-shirt he was wearing. "Get me some new clothes. I don't want to smell that place on me anymore," he pleaded.

Dean obliged and helped Sam into his sleep clothes before practically pushing him into bed and pulling a light blanket over his shuddering frame. He ran a hand through Sam's hair, his palm lingering on his forehead as he gauged the fever Sam was running.

Mom and Cas came in soon after, and Cas was carrying an empty syringe. He sat stiffly on the side of Sam's bed and Dean watched as he placed a hand gently on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam, are you ready?" he asked.

Sam nodded jerkily. "Let's get it over with."

Cas stuck the needle in a vein and drew some of his own blood, before turning to Sam. The hunter offered his arm, and Cas pressed to find a vein and gave Sam the injection.

"That it?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Cas replied and watched anxiously until Sam suddenly cried out, curling tighter into himself.

Dean surged forward. "Sam? What's wrong?"

"Dean, this is how it is," Cas told him grimly. "It's not an easy treatment, but it doesn't last nearly as long as waiting for it to burn out of him. Plus it will insure that every trace of demon blood will be gone at the end."

Dean swallowed hard, hating the sight of agony written across his brother's face, but Sam had agreed to this, knowing what it was like, so he knew it had been the right call.

"So we just wait it out?" he asked.

Cas nodded. "Yes. With any luck it will be over within ten to twelve hours."

That still seemed like an eternity, but Dean nodded. "Okay then, I guess we see to your wing."

Cas looked down. "It will heal on its own eventually."

"Hell no," Dean said and reached out to pull open the coat that Cas was wearing, revealing the cut on his chest that was still bleeding through the hastily applied gauze patches. "Even this hasn't healed. I'm not gonna leave you with a busted wing without doing something about it. Doesn't it hurt?"

Cas shifted his shoulders and barely concealed the wince. "It's not as bad on the ethereal plane."

"Well, you look like crap, and like you're in agony," Dean told him firmly, getting a warning look from Mom. "Remember how we talked about hiding wounds before?"

"Cas, we just want to make sure you're okay," she said softly. "There's no reason for you to suffer through this if we can help."

He ducked his head, hands clenching in his lap. "If…with my grace so low I will have to heal them on the physical plane." He looked up at Dean with an emotion the hunter couldn't quite read.

"So?" he inquired, not really seeing the issue Cas seemed to be.

"So, it will mean that I can't leave the bunker or aid on hunts until they're healed," Cas said.

Dean's jaw tightened, finally seeing where Cas was coming from. "Come on, man, I thought we got past that 'you're a burden' crap. Whatever Ketch or those other dickbags said to you back there was a lie. You know better than that. Heck, you can air your wings out here any time you want to; it's your house too. You're entitled."

Cas looked up at him, mouth twisted. "You don't…think it's weird?"

"That you have giant feathery wings?" Dean asked with a frown. "No. In fact, I think they're pretty damn awesome. I mean, yeah, it might take some getting used to seeing them out of the corner of my eye, but you're still you, Cas, feathered or not."

Cas smiled slightly, seeming to relax a bit. "Okay then. But I should probably manifest them in the library where there's more room."

Dean glanced toward Sam in his fitful state, and wondered whether he should leave him or not. He glanced at Mom who was sitting on the other side of the bed, pressing a wet washcloth to Sam's forehead.

"I'm gonna need help setting Cas' wing," he told her.

Mom nodded. "Sam should be fine for a few minutes, right? I'll go help grab the first aid stuff."

Dean led Cas into the library where the angel shrugged out of Dean's coat, and gingerly sank into a chair. Dean cleaned and stitched the long surgical cut in his chest first, feeling his skin crawl again just at the thought of it, and then once he had taped fresh gauze over it, he took a deep breath.

"Okay, let's get your wings taken care of."

Cas shifted so that he was sitting backwards on the chair and squeezed his eyes closed in concentration. A sharp gasp escaped his throat as his wings shimmered into existence again, filling a large portion of the room.

"Wow," Dean said, unable to help himself. Mom seemed likewise awed. It was different seeing Cas's wings here, especially now that they weren't trying to get the hell out of dodge.

"Cas, they're beautiful," Mom told him sincerely.

Cas gave a self-deprecating grunt. "Well, they're hardly what they once were, but I appreciate your sentiment."

Mom smiled, approaching his good wing before stopping. "May I?"

Cas nodded and she gently touched some of the crooked feathers, attempting to smooth them back into order. Cas twitched but didn't seem to mind the ministration.

"Do you think we could straighten some of these out?" she asked, surveying the damage. "Would that be less painful?"

Cas shrugged but nodded. "Yes…it's hard for me to reach them. Typically, angels will care for each others' wings, but..."

Dean raised an eyebrow at this interesting tidbit. He cleared his throat. "Well, uh, all you had to do was ask, Cas. I mean, I know we're not angels, but we can still straighten a few feathers, can't we?"

Cas looked down at the floor. "I just didn't think…"

"What, Cas?" Dean coaxed.

Cas sighed. "I thought you might think it strange if I just introduced my wings to you. Sometimes I feel like you forget I'm not actually human, and with my wings in a physical state, well… You are very set in your ways, you know." His voice held a hint of fond exasperation.

Mom smiled at that, glancing at Dean who gave Cas an indignant look. "We're not that bad."

Cas stared at him balefully and Dean snorted.

"Well, whatever, from now on, free wing grooming whenever you need it. Right now though, let's get this bone set."

With Mom's help, Dean carefully straightened Cas' injured wing, propping it up on the table. He searched for the break, feeling through the feathers until he found the spot. He didn't know much about bird—or, well, angel—anatomy, but he thought that a bird's wings were formed very similar to a human arm bone, so using that as his guide, he could figure out how to set it.

"Okay," Dean breathed out, and nodded to his mother as she took up position, bracing the wing above the break. "On three. One…"

He yanked swiftly and Cas gave an agonized cry, clutching the chair he was sitting in so hard it creaked, threatening to break.

"You're good, it's over."

"That was not on three," Cas accused, breathing heavily.

Dean smirked. "Trust me, it's better when you don't know. Anticipation's the worst part."

Cas grumbled. Dean fashioned a splint with his mom's help and, taking a moment to look online, found that binding a wing in a resting position was typically how vets and wildlife rescue places did it for birds. He figured it would be okay for Cas too.

But first Dean and his mother each took a wing, and began to smooth the feathers out, putting them back in order, and trying as well as they could to repair the ragged hooks and barbs on them.

Dean swallowed hard as his fingers carded through a section where the feathers almost looked burned at the edges, some only half there, and glanced over at the sparse patches where there weren't any feathers at all.

"Cas, did they do all of this to you?" he asked after a while.

Cas stiffened, but shook his head. "No, Ketch only broke my wing and damaged some feathers. I—most of this is because of my weakened grace. And the burns…they were caused by Hellfire."

Hellfire. Dean felt his stomach flip at that. Knowing these must have been scars Cas got while rescuing him from Hell, maybe rescuing Sam too.

"I didn't know," he said softly.

"I didn't tell you," Cas said and narrowed his eyes at the hunter. "I don't regret it, Dean."

Dean wasn't sure how to reply to that. Instead he just coaxed more of Cas' feathers back into place. The angel sat there quietly, eyes half closed as if lulled by the ministrations, and by the time Dean and his mom had done as much as they could, Cas looked like he was about ready to nod off.

"Okay, time to get your wing in a sling," Dean told him, and grabbed some ace wrap from the kit.

It was a bit hard to get the wing into position without the splits rubbing painfully anywhere, but eventually Dean found the right angle and strapped Cas' wing up in a way that could let it heal and not cause Cas any more pain.

"Thank you," he said as Dean finished and helped him stand. Cas seemed a little unbalanced, but Dean thought it was probably just because he couldn't use his injured wing to steady himself.

"Are you good?" Mom asked, touching his shoulder.

Cas nodded. "Yes, I think I'll be okay."

"Great," Dean said. "Why don't you go rest, and I'll fix you something to eat?"

Cas nodded and went back to the dormitory wing with Mom as she returned to Sam's room.

Dean went to the kitchen and heated some canned soup on the stove—tomato rice—and fried up a couple grilled cheese sandwiches. He took one tray to Mom, and then grabbed another for Cas.

He found his friend sitting on the bed having changed into sweat pants, and was currently carefully taking a pair of scissors to a t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, setting the tray next to him.

"Making wing holes," Cas said simply, holding the shirt up for inspection before looking at Dean. "Can you help get it over my injured wing?"

"Okay," Dean replied skeptically. "This is probably one of the weirdest things I've ever done." He spent the next minute or so struggling to get the shirt over Cas' wing and head and his arms in the right holes, all while trying not to injure his wing further. But eventually Cas got his homemade wing shirt on and tugged it into place, shifting his wings to check the space, seeming pleased.

"Thank you," he replied and turned to the tray. "I did this while I was captured. I think the scientists were surprised that I could come up with something so human."

Dean caught the bitterness in Cas' voice, and swallowed hard, pulling the chair from the desk over to the side of the bed. "You uh…you wanna talk about it at all?" he asked quietly. "Because you know that whatever they said, whatever they tried to make you believe, wasn't true. No matter how inhuman they thought you were, you're still just as human to Sam and I as you always were—well, after you stopped being a dick anyway."

Cas narrowed his eyes, but shook his head. "They were just…cold, indifferent. I tried not to let it bother me. I understood that they think I cannot have human emotions and thoughts because I am an angel. But I was angrier at how they treated Sam who _is_ human. How could they think he was a monster?"

Dean shook his head, hands clenching into fists. "Because they're blind bastards who can't see past their cemented perception of things. And I know, I was like that too, once upon a time, but the people—human and otherwise—who I have met over the years have taught me that things aren't always black and white. I mean, some of the best friends I've ever had weren't human."

Cas smiled. "Not all hunters are like the Men of Letters. Some are more open to different possibilities."

"Well, good riddance to them," Dean said firmly, remembering Ketch's screams as the creatures he had captured ripped him apart, and still not feeling bad about it. "Hopefully they won't be back."

"I think you were convincing enough," Cas said wryly.

"Yeah probably," Dean stood and patted Cas on the knee. "You should eat and get some rest. I'm gonna go check on Sammy."

He got up to leave and was halfway to the door when Cas called, "Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Thank you. For…being understanding. It's nice to know I have a family to turn to when I need assistance."

Dean smiled and nodded. "Same here, Cas."

He left the room, grabbed some food for himself, and then headed toward Sam's room to join his mom.

She was still sitting by the bed, grabbing bites of food between cooling Sam's forehead. Dean's brow furrowed in worry as he saw how bad Sam still looked, but Cas had seemed to think this was normal, so he would trust the angel that Sam would be okay.

"Here, Mom, I'll look after him while you eat," Dean told his mother as she took several bites of her soup.

She smiled. "I'm not that out of practice. Though last time I was taking care of sick boys, you two were small enough to rock on my lap."

Dean smirked as he took a seat beside her. "Yeah, don't think you want to try that now."

"How's Cas?"

"I think he'll be okay," Dean told her sincerely. "I think they both will be. They've been through hell, but…we all have before and survived, we'll get through this too."

Mom was silent for a long moment before she inhaled slightly and turned to Dean. "About the demon blood…I don't want to pry, but…"

"No, you should know," Dean said and with a sigh, he told his mom all about the demon blood and Ruby—well, some of it. He told her the gist, but left most of the more painful details out, the ones Dean didn't want to remember anyway.

Still, there were tears in Mom's eyes when he had finished, and she reached out to brush Sam's hair away from his face.

"You boys have been through so much," she whispered. "Suffered so much. And the demon blood…you said it was Yellow-Eyes? So, really it's my fault…"

Dean shook his head and reached out to grip his mom's hand tightly in his. "Mom, neither Sam nor I blame you for that, okay? Remember how I told you about traveling back in time? I saw what happened, and I know you were only doing what you did to save Dad. Hell, Sam and I have nearly broken the world a few times to save each other. That's what Winchesters do."

Mom shook her head with a wry smile. "I suppose it is. But you are my children, and I still started that ball rolling."

"One way or another, our destinies were slated from the beginning," Dean told her. "But we've gotten past that. I mean, it's never easy, not with our lives, but we've been better recently. And we have you back now."

Mom smiled at him and reached out to stroke his cheek. Dean leaned into her palm with a small exhale and closed his eyes.

"Why don't you catch a few hours of sleep, Dean?" Mom asked. "You've hardly slept the whole time we were looking for them. I'll wake you in a couple hours and you can take a shift."

Dean wanted to protest, but was honestly too tired to do so. He stood up, grabbing their empty dishes and just barely biting back a yawn. "Alright. But let me know if he wakes up before then."

He dropped the dishes off in the kitchen sink and went back to the dormitory ward. He peeked into Cas' room and saw the angel lying on the bed, tucked under his own wings and sleeping so deeply he was snoring quietly. Dean shook his head, snuck in to retrieve his dishes as well and then closed the door quietly so as not to disturb him. Cas had looked like he really needed the rest.

And Dean, well, he did too. Pretty much as soon as he had laid down in his bed and hit the pillow he was fast asleep, comforted by the fact that his family was safe and sound and together again, and there didn't seem to be any more imminent threats.

Things were starting to look up again.

* * *

 _Castiel watched Sam as he settled over_ the last couple hours he had been taking his turn looking after him. It had been nearly fifteen hours now, but Sam was getting better, even though the amount of demon blood in his veins had made it harder to shake than the last time. But finally it looked like he might be waking up soon.

Castiel shifted his splinted wing into a more comfortable position. He was still getting used to having his wings on the physical plane. It felt different here in the bunker where he could be comfortable and was not under threat of having his wings violated like at the Men of Letters compound. He still shuddered when he remembered their hands on him, especially Ketch's, could still feel the sickening snap of his bone across Ketch's knee.

But Dean and Mary's caring ministrations had gone a long way to erasing those bad memories. In fact their careful, if a little clumsy, grooming had taken a lot of the ache of bent feathers away and it was really just his broken bone that hurt for the most part now. He'd also been very touched by Dean's offer to help him out in the future if his wings needed more care. At this point, he wouldn't trust anyone but the Winchesters to do something like that. He even thought he might take up Dean's offer for 'airing' his wings out on occasion. It could get cramped keeping them on the ethereal plane for so long, and he so missed feeling the wind through them…

Sam moaned slightly and stirred in the bed, turning onto his side. Castiel leaned forward, trying to see whether he was waking up or not.

Sam's eyes were fluttering and he made an uncomfortable noise as he shifted.

"Sam?" Castiel asked quietly.

The younger Winchester's eyes fluttered open and he inhaled sharply. Looking around. Castiel reached out and touched his arm.

"It's okay, Sam, we're back in the bunker, remember?"

Sam relaxed then, and collapsed heavily into the pillows.

"Yeah, I remember."

Castiel smiled. "How are you?"

Sam hummed thoughtfully. "Tired, sore. But I think the demon blood is gone." He looked up at the angel, eyes flicking over his wings. "You?"

"I'm good," Castiel replied. "Dean and your mother helped splint my wing. I'll have to heal it in its physical state."

Sam smiled slightly. "Glad you're alright."

As if he had some inner big brother alarm—and Castiel wasn't sure he didn't—Dean came into the room then and gave a relieved smile as he saw Sam awake.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, coming over to the bed and pressing the back of his hand to Sam's forehead. "Fever's gone—how you doing?"

Sam half-heartedly swatted his hand away and groaned as he tried to sit up. "I'll be okay now. The demon blood is gone."

"Good," Dean replied. "Now you need to get something in your stomach, and you're probably extremely dehydrated."

Sam groaned again, finally managing to sit up, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, but first, shower."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Okay, first shower. I'll make up some bacon and eggs while you're in there."

"Hey, Dean," Sam called before Dean could turn to leave.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Castiel noticed Sam looking down at his lap, hands clenched together as if he were trying to think of what to say. Finally he looked up.

"Dean, I just…I wanted to tell you, and Cas too, that…maybe I shouldn't hunt for a while. At least not demons. I'm not sure if I'll be tempted or whatever, but I'd rather not…"

"Sam," Dean cut in sharply and came to sit on the edge of the bed, facing his brother. "I don't want to hear any of that from you. You didn't choose what they did to you, I know you fought it, I know you're not gonna fall off the wagon again. You haven't all these years."

"But that's because I was clean," Sam protested, gripping the blanket in his fists restlessly. "What if this triggers again? What if I'm no better than before…."

"Stop," Dean said and reached out to grip his wrist firmly. " _I_ have faith in you. I know you're not going to be tempted. You're stronger than that now."

Castiel nodded in agreement. "Even if you are tempted, you _will_ be able to fight it. I watched you fight it, remember?"

"You also watched me fail," Sam said in a soft voice, eyes guilty and wet. Castiel squeezed his shoulder.

"But only when you had no other choice. Until then you didn't let it rule you, and when you chose to save me that way, I know it was your choice, not the blood taking over—it was simply the only weapon you had at that moment. I could tell, Sam. You have no need to worry."

Sam took a shuddering breath. "Okay. If you believe in me, then I guess I can manage to do the same."

"Damn right," Dean said, and squeezed Sam's shoulder tightly. "Now go take your shower, bitch."

"Sure, jerk," Sam said with a small smile.

Castiel watched them fondly as he stood, leaving Sam to take his shower while he followed Dean to the kitchen to see if he could help out with breakfast.

Their troubles might not all be over, but at least they would always have each other. And after all, it was the ties that bind family together that matter most at the end of the day.

The End

* * *

 **Stay tuned for a one shot to be posted on Monday!**

 **Next Friday I will be posting the first chapter of my next story "Katabasis" a very dark and angsty Season 7 AU with much Cas whump because I can't be stopped. So come stop by and check that out!**


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